#also darcys bday is tomorrow

[rinkomon]

Her loves <3

I know what u are Marcy Wu

[iamdarcylewis]

.

[textsfromumbridge]

sweet dreams are made of this (who am I to disagree)

Belated bday fic for the amazing @hihiyas, who asked for sharing a bed and mutual pining, and since I sometimes live in a bed-sharing fic myself, I had to do this. 

Hon, I know it’s a week late, and maybe it’s a little all over the place, but I love you and you deserve all the fics because you’re an awesome friend and I’m lucky to have you. *HUGGLES*

ZERO

When she met Gabriel Enjolras for the first time, she never expected him to eventually become her friend, let alone the person she would secretly refer to as her best friend.

Neither of them made a great first impression when Marius introduced them. He was distant - not good with new people - which made her think of him as an elitist prick. It took them a good long while to get over those first impressions.

It didn’t help that they were both stubborn as fuck - neither was willing to make the first move towards reconciliation.

Marius once claimed they’d make him prematurely gray. As if, the dork would be a ginger forever, probably.

So, yeah, the so-called Enjonine friendship (thanks for that Courfeyrac) took a while to reach peak potential. They spent a few months hating each other’s guts - and then they all went to see a Thor movie and Eponine spent the next week talking about Lady Sif and Darcy Lewis. For some reason that made Enjolras realize she wasn’t all bad - well, she was kind of glad that her appreciation for seriously awesome female characters got through to him.

One group movie hang-out turned into weekly movie nights with just Enjolras on his couch, watching everything from PBS documentaries to cliched rom-coms. He always had something to say about everything, whether it was the underlying themes of LGBT+ rights in the X-men movies or an in depth discussion of the politics of girl world after watching Mean Girls (he had no idea how much realism was in that movie).

A few months went by just like that, and she started becoming comfortable with calling him her friend, instead of just referring to him as a friend of a friend. Azelma joked about being proud her big sister actually made a friend for once, and Eponine flipped her off.

That was real sisterly love, honestly.

She showed her appreciation for Enjolras’ friendship much the same way: by making fun of him all the damn time. Of his need to use punctuation and spelling properly in every damn text - honestly, abbreviations were just so much easier (and so much faster!). She teased him about his overly formal clothing - trying to goad him into wearing jeans and a t-shirt at least once.

Well, that one definitely came back to bite her in the (amazing, thanks so much) ass.

He showed up on her birthday in tight jeans and a fucking Hamilton t-shirt that appeared to be slightly too small on him.

She had her first naughty dream about him that very night. She tried to tell her lady bits about friendship without benefits, but they definitely weren’t having that.

And so the terrible, awful years of pining began.

ONE

The first time they sleep in the same bed it is purely convenience and about 99% awkwardness. Maybe even the full 100%.

A storm is hitting the city, and she is still over at his place at 11 PM. Public transport has given up on navigating through the pouring rain and hail and strong gusts of wind. She needs to get home, but there is absolutely no way that her dork friend is going to let her leave his apartment.

Yeah, the great Enjolras is also a grade A dork - she wants to tell all her friends.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a guest room,” he actually apologizes. “I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’ll sleep on the floor, or the couch.”

Oh yes, surely the tiny couch will be comfortable for this six feet tall specimen. He is going to fuck up his back so bad - she doesn’t want that on her conscience. And really, she’d sleep in the same bed as Cosette, so why would it be that much weirder if it’s Enjolras?

“Don’t be an idiot,” she tells him for the umpteenth time.

He waits patiently to hear what he’s being moronic about this time - she’s taught him well over the past few years. It’s weird, but here’s this guy who actually listens to everything that she has to say - even when she’s teasing him, but especially when she is completely serious about something.

She calls the shots most of the time - and he doesn’t get offended, and he even changes his behavior when she thinks he’s genuinely being an asshole.

“You’re not sleeping on that chair you call a couch,” she finally continues, rolling her eyes at him. “You will fall off in the middle of the night and hurt yourself. Just get in bed with me. It’s only weird if we make it weird.”

It’s so mature of her, honestly people might be surprised.

Enjolras however, is not surprised at all - well, he might be surprised they will be sharing a bed, but he’s never surprised at her level-headedness.

Oh, this crush is definitely getting way out of hand.

Minutes later, they lie awake together, side by side. She’s almost afraid to breathe too loudly, not wanting to bother him more than she already is - he’s probably half asleep already and she does not want to wake him.

So she stays completely still, muscles tensed, listening to the rain hit the bedroom window with an alarming volume.

“This is ridiculous,” Enjolras mutters in the dark of his bedroom. “Why is this so awkward?”

Eponine breathes out a little huff of a laugh. Thank God he feels it too.

TWO

The first time was weird and terrifying, he has to admit that much. Suddenly there was this person all up in his personal space. He woke up a few times that night because there was someone breathing next to him, and that one time she accidentally touched him he almost couldn’t go back to sleep.

It was just her leg bumping his, but it has been so long since there was someone close enough to touch. Has he ever really shared a bed like this, just sleeping?

And of course it’s Eponine. She’s started to mean way too much to him in a matter of months - and now it’s been years. If he were to talk about his feelings towards her with people, they might even call it pining. He hates that word, but he knows it’s accurate.

She’s funny, and empathetic, and so much smarter than anyone knows. And sometimes he just gets distracted thinking about what it would be like if he just leaned in and kissed her - she would probably hit him.

But still she lets him sleep in her bed.

This time the reason is less clear than the previous time - there is no storm, and it’s not even all that late. This time, he is just hanging out with her on a Friday night, and since they have standing plans for Saturdays, Eponine decides that he might as well sleep over instead of going all the way to his just to sleep.

He could never say no to that.

“At least we’ve figured out you don’t snore,” she tells him.

She’s changing into her pajamas in the bathroom, and he’s already in her bed, dressed in just his boxers - he’ll need his gym clothes tomorrow for the dance class they’re taking. He mentions one time how he likes to dance and she just runs with it.

“You get cuddly,” he blurts out.

Last time, he woke up with her arm wrapped around him - they have both been pretending that it never happened, but that can’t last forever. Especially not because he likes it a little too much.

“At least you won’t get cold,” Eponine steps out of the bathroom.

She seems to favor sleep shorts and a tanktop, and it is wreaking havoc on his nerves. Her long, bare legs possibly tangling with his under her soft sheets… And he’s only wearing boxers - he made sure to wear a shirt last time, even though he hates wearing clothes to bed. This is his normal sleepwear, and it’s scary.

“Won’t you get cold?” he makes it a point not to look at her too much.

“Says the guy wearing just boxers,” she responds quickly.

He runs hot, he knows that much, but any comment on it might take this night to a whole new level of awkwardness. So he just murmurs agreeably and pointedly does not watch her climb into bed next to him.

“Good night,” he whispers.

He knows he’s blushing in the darkness of her room.

“Good night,” she returns.

She sounds like she’s smiling.

THREE

It’s making them closer outside of the bedroom too.

He seems much more casual about his personal space, comfortable with her leaning into him a bit on his tiny sofa. She can poke him teasingly and he doesn’t even flinch away from her touch.

They have never been the touchy-feely kind of friends before, and people are noticing. Both Cosette and Chetta have asked her if she’s fucking him yet - she never even told them about the stupid crush and how hot he looks in just boxers.

She gets to see him in most states of dress and undress - he doesn’t bother changing in a separate room when she’s already seen him in his underwear. Maybe soon she’ll follow that lead, when she isn’t dreaming about how he’ll react when he sees her in her best underwear - she’ll be prepared next time so she’s actually wearing her best underwear.

Because once again she is not prepared to stay at his. Sure, she has a pair of emergency panties in her bag, but those are not made for him to see.

Once again she ends up wearing one of his gym shirts and no pants - the shirt is big enough and she likes the feeling of her mostly bare legs tangling with his in their sleep.

Her previously secret cuddling tendencies have become obvious to him, and while she is super subtle about untangling herself from him a few times each night, she’s sure he’s woken up with her wrapped around him at least once or twice. Still, he hasn’t said anything about that specifically - just like she has never said a word about those times when she was totally pressed up against his boner.

Friends keep awkward secrets from each other, right?

No one knows about their sleeping together, and normally she would be able to talk to her best friend about anything (even this weird relationship stuff), but now everything she wants to talk about involves him.

She knows what he looks like in the morning, the gravelly sound of his voice when he’s just woken up, and how he’s barely functional until he’s had a big cup of coffee. The usually so eloquent dork can barely form a full sentence for at least five minutes, and the full sleepiness only fades after a lot of coffee from his favorite mug (the one she gave him for his birthday two years ago).

It is getting so damn difficult to contain this stupid crush. She doesn’t want to fuck up her relationship with the best friend she’s ever had, but these feeling won’t go away.

The smart thing to do would probably be to keep her distance for a while, but nobody ever said she was smart.

Except for Enjolras.

Damn it, not helping.

FOUR

It’s gotten to the point where he sleeps better when she’s next to him, on her side of the bed, breathing softly and occasionally reaching out for him.

He used to sleep like a starfish in the middle of his bed, but now he sleeps on his side of the bed even when he’s alone, reaching for someone who isn’t there. When he’s alone, he fills her side with blankets and pillows so there’s something there at least.

Yes, he is fully aware of how pathetic he is.

It’s not just the loneliness - it’s her. It’s Eponine.

“It’s nice to have someone there,” he tells her one night when they hang out on his couch together. “It’s nice to have you here.”

Oh, any second now she is going to punch him in the face and walk out - he is getting way too close to revealing his stupid feelings for her anytime she’s around. This is not something that is usually said with completely platonic intentions.

His intentions are platonic, they really are. His dreams, the ones that will never ever come true, are the things that are far away from platonic. Sometimes he wakes up blushing, with her right there only miles away from where he wants her to be. She can keep cuddling him whenever she wants.

“I know what you mean,” is all that Eponine says.

And now his heart is about to pound right out of his chest, because she understands. But does she really? Or is she just scratching the surface?

But then she leans into him, curling up against him on his tiny little couch, and he no longer cares how much she understands. He just wants her to stay just like this.

He slips an arm around her shoulders and she slings her legs over into his lap, her head almost leaning on his shoulder. They are almost entirely wrapped around each other now, and while his body is screaming out at him to just make a move already, his heart is perfectly content for once.

Later that night, when they go to bed early even though neither of them appears even the slightest bit tired, she resumes her cuddling right away. Her bare legs tangle with his, and her arm is slung casually over his bare chest. She can probably feel his heart pounding underneath her fingertips.

“We always end up like this,” she whispers in the darkness. “We might as well own up to it and start out like it.”

He murmurs in agreement, too afraid that words will ruin this perfect bubble of happiness.

FIVE

It’s been a month of cuddling almost every night. Either he is already at hers, or she lets herself end up at his at the end of the night - sleeping alone has never looked worse when she has the option of sleeping in his arms.

People are starting to notice - Chetta showed up to her apartment a few times, and she either found no one there or both Eponine and Enjolras. And in those cases they’d barely managed to untangle themselves before Chetta barged in - if they made it in time at all, so Chetta had some things to say to Eponine.

Things that do not bear repeating - because obviously Chetta picked up on her stupid crush right away.

She still wants so badly, wants even more than she’s been lucky enough to get from him. Really, she should have learned by now never to ask for more, never to need more than she’s getting. She is Eponine Thenardier - she doesn’t deserve any of this. She doesn’t deserve a best friend who cares for her this much, who holds her through the worst parts and doesn’t mind her being all over him all the damn time even when the paint on her skin has barely dried.

Sure, she understands why that stuff makes Chetta think that the stupid feelings are mutual, but Eponine knows better than that. They’re just really close best friends - platonic soulmates or something. They are not a couple, no matter how often she dreams about that at night. Dreaming about something does not make it so - she has to remember that.

It’s just really hard to remember when they’re wrapped around each other and his hand has once again made its way under her top - he’s halfway to second base with her and he’s still sleeping! She only wishes he’d make a move like this when they are both wide awake.

The fact that he never will is what is keeping her up at night - the clock on the bedside table reads 2:43 AM. She is perfectly comfortable with his hands where they are, but her mind will not stop racing and making her read into this.

She has a momentary lapse of judgment, a moment of weakness that makes her shift in his grip so that his hand slips even higher up her shirt. One more shift, and…

Wait!

The tension in his body increases suddenly, and she knows she managed to screw everything up. He’s awake and he is just about to take his hands off her and never touch her again.

“I’m so sorry,” they both start at the same time.

Then, silence. He’s sorry? She should be sorry, trying to make him grope her in his sleep just so she can believe the fantasy for a little while longer.

He pulls his hand away slowly, so slowly that it’s almost a caress. She just can’t seem to stop the wishful thinking - she wants him not to be sorry for touching her, she just wants him to want her a fraction of how much she wants him.

“I know I crossed so many lines just now,” Enjolras is brave enough to continue.

Not nearly enough, actually.

“Not really,” she shrugs, trying to keep casual.

“You didn’t,” he stammers. “I mean. Did I - did you?”

She could step in, she should step in. But watching him squirm like this in the dimly lit bedroom has a whole different kind of appeal. Because it’s starting to seem like he is just as scared as she is, for all the same reasons.

“Did you want me to move?” he asks then, bold again.

“Not in the direction you just did,” she admits.

His eyes will be wide, probably, but she cannot tell. All she can do is wait for him to respond, to push them both over the edge they’ve been dangling on for what seems like centuries.

Slowly, his hand moves back underneath her shirt, as if waiting for her to protest. He is inches away from his goal when he stops.

“Just kiss me already,” she can’t wait a second longer.

He listens to her, as he always does.