The floor wasn't so uncomfortable.
Sure, the thin sleeping bag she'd forgotten to bring provided almost no cushion against the hardwood floor of Jane's room, but she'd have been fine curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed. No worries there. Except for the searing neck pain she'd probably experience in the morning.
At the moment, she was curled up as far away from the other side of the bed as possible. Her legs were beginning to cramp up, so she occupied herself by tucking her freezing feet alternately under the opposite calf. She'd been told she had bad circulation, for whatever reason.
No matter what her inadequate bloodstreams normally did, they certainly seemed to working now. Her heart thudded dully against her ribcage in rapid succession, and her pulse thumped in her ears. She used it as a metronome of sorts, counting the beats in hope they would work as an acceptable sheep substitute. They didn't, of course, and did little to distract from the problem at hand.
There was something seriously weird about this. Daria might not have been the touchy-feely type, but she wasn't so adverse to human contact that being in the same bed as someone else (especially someone she knew well) shouldn't have bothered her this much.
Almost more unnerving than the sensation itself was her inability to logically reconcile it.
Jane shifted in her sleep and was courteous enough to jam her elbow against Daria's shoulder blade. She groaned drowzily. Daria gave an almost imperceptible squeak.
Damn it.
This was more than unnerving; it was confusing. Daria was not one to be confused, much less this...kind of confusion.
She decided, in lieu of sleep, to formulate a vindictive.
Firstly: She was in the same bed with Jane.
Secondly: Jane was really close.
Thirdly: Way too close.
Fourthly: Taking an elbow to the shoulder wasn't so bad for some reason. Or maybe it was, depending on the desired reaction.
Fifthly: Jane was really, really, really close, and she was simultaneously experiencing a resurgence in her need for personal space and the feeling that the space was a little too empty for a her liking.
This really didn't help anything. Somehow, though, the listing was soothing.
"Daria." She froze at the sleepy, irritated croaking of her name.
"Yeah?" She answered, meekly. Hopefully Jane was too tired to notice.
"Stop moving. Your feet are fucking freezing." She rolled over, her back pressing against Daria's and sending a bizarre sensation up from the base of her spine. It was like having a chiropractor work on your back with slabs of marshmallow.
She wondered, faintly, how any analogy she could possibly use would have anything to do with marshmallows. But it fit.
She shivered from nothing in particular. Jane's back was warm.
Her lips felt slightly chapped. She ran her tongue over them. There was a silence in which no particularly clear opinions on the situation appeared in Daria's mind.
She had an inkling in which she turned over, crossed her arms against her chest and planted her face in Jane's neck. The crossed arms would alleviate any accusations of unusual behavior, and she would no longer have to worry about freezing her butt off. the fact that this inkling even arose terrified her into staying put.
"Jane?" Daria whispered. Or maybe thought. She couldn't really tell. Either way, she received no response. That was, honestly, to be expected and appreciated. She stopped shifting her feet and let her body relax. She attempted to embrace the potentially comfortable situation.
Before drifting off at last, she had an inkling to wake Jane by pressing her cold feet against the back of her legs. She quashed it, of course. She wanted to let go of logic for the moment, but where was the logic in destroying said moment?
Not quite cold and not quite confused (yet not really understanding, either) she slipped off into sleep, moderately content. Sometimes, absolutes were unnecessary.
This wasn't one of those times, but allowing it to be helped put her to sleep.
I seem to write a lot of stories that take place when a character is half-asleep. Since this is how I come up with 90% of the stuff I write, it probably makes sense. Viva la Daria and thank you for readin'.