Sasha wakes on her front, her nose pressed into lavender-scented hair and her arm flung across a soft, warm body. Obviously, she rolls off of Boo and onto her side to face the wall, curled in on herself. Boo's eyes are on her—she can feel them, waiting patiently like Boo's eyes always do these days—but Sasha ignores them. God. She doesn't even know when Boo got to be so understanding. It was somewhere between that time in rehearsal with Melanie's brother, and the pointe shoe incident, Sasha would guess. That's when Boo stopped questioning Sasha's actions and motives; that's when (Sasha's afraid) Boo may have figured her out.
"Sasha?" she murmurs, and Sasha feels fingers in her hair. She ignores them. Eyes, fingers, all of it. God. Boo used to be the happy-go-lucky, painfully oblivious one of the group. But these days all she does is stare back a little too long when Sasha suggests they all sneak some alcohol and sleep out in the woods, or smile secretively to herself instead of getting offended when Sasha makes a rude comment about her stupid new keychain. It's annoying as hell. "Sasha…" Boo mumbles again, then, and Sasha rolls over to face her.
"What," she says with a roll of her eyes, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.
"You can come back, you know," Boo returns softly, meeting Sasha's eyes for a brief second before looking away, a pink flush creeping into her cheeks.
"Back?" Sasha repeats with a little shake of her head, a furrow of her brow.
Boo sighs, recalculating the direction of the conversation. A long moment later, she says, "I'm lonely and I need to cuddle."
And Sasha, Sasha almost cries because Boo is never lonely. Not Boo. So she rolls back over, fitting her shoulder under Boo's arm, her cheek against the space below Boo's shoulder, above her left breast, laying her opposite arm back over Boo's tummy. They lie there, quietly, not stirring too much. The fingers on Boo's left hand slip and slide through Sasha's dark hair, rhythmically. Sasha might almost fall asleep again, as she had before, to the rising and falling of Boo's chest. But Boo says, "I wish you would talk to me."
Sasha's eyes open, but all she sees is the pink of Boo's shirt and the slope of her breasts. "I talk to you."
"About stuff that matters." Boo's fingers leave Sasha's hair to trace the lines of her neck.
"What matters?" Sasha asks blithely as she actively tries not to arch into Boo's touch like a stupid cat.
"Anything. How you feel." Invisible liquid lines drip from Boo's fingertips to pool in the hollows of Sasha's clavicle. She almost whimpers out loud at that, but saves herself. Thankfully. Boo's already uncovered enough of her as it is; it would be a shame if she figured everything out.
"How I feel about what?" Boo's hand pulls Sasha's hair away from her neck, tucking it back so as to continue with the branding of her swirls into Sasha's skin.
"Anything," Boo repeats softly.
Sasha closes her eyes again, feeling her breathing fall almost in time with Boo's. "You already know," she finally says. "Boo, you—you already know."
Boo laughs kindly—like Boo could laugh any other way—and Sasha curses herself for smiling at the sound. "I'm here, if you want to talk, though."
Sasha allows herself to tighten her arm around Boo's middle slightly. "I know," she whispers.
Boo's lips find the top of Sasha's head and leave there a soft, lingering kiss. They drift, together, and when Sasha wakes next, their legs are still tangled, and Boo's fingers still clutch at her hair.