I am less than inspired. Ugh.
Combeferre wakes up spooning a version of himself.
It says a lot about the degree of weirdness his problems tend to have that he takes the news in stride. He just sighs a little and turns around so his back faces his carbon copy. This isn’t even his side of the bed, for God’s sake, he thinks as he drifts back off to sleep.
The second time he wakes up is less gentle.
"What the fuck,” he hears his own voice say with a vicious satisfaction at the swear word that he can’t remember ever having felt. He gives up on sleep and sits.
His carbon copy stares at him, mouth slightly agape. “Eponine?” he says, and it sounds tentative.
"Not quite," Combeferre answers and the words come out in Eponine’s husky voice, waking him up properly in no time at all.
"Well this is fun," Eponine drawls with Combeferre’s voice, dragging his body to the mirror unsteadily. She makes a face at it.
"Stop that," Combeferre tells her, standing up and shrugging on his bathing gown. His hands disappear into the sleeves immediately. Huh.
Eponine turns towards him, going cross-eyed for a moment just because she can, and says, “ever wondered what sex feels like for me?”
Combeferre huffs a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t even walk properly.”
"Point," Eponine concedes. "Hey, how long do you think this’ll stay?"
And that is when Combeferre’s mind stops doing the thing where it lets Combeferre have a brief period of worriless fun in the morning and cuts straight to business.