"We were adopted stepsisters once," Éponine says. It's nearing dusk and she's all but straddling Cosette, who's lying down on the grass field. Cosette's tousled mess of hair and the way she looks up at Éponine through the hazy twilight makes Éponine blush something hard.
"So?" Cosette asks simply. She runs her hands up and down Éponine's old, raggedy blue jeans. She likes the way she can feel Éponine's warmth through them, but the way Éponine shivers when she wears them makes Cosette sad. She doesn't like Éponine to be so cold all the time.
"So, this isn't weird?" Éponine asks, not noticing that she had brought her own hand down to gently stroke Cosette's face. She likes the softness.
Cosette giggles and Éponine thinks it's wonderful, like the sound of the windchimes her family used to own when she was young. And, as if to say not one bit you silly girl, Cosette takes Éponine's faded shirt in her hands and pulls herself up to meet the other girl's surprised lips.
Éponine doesn't know what to do with such kindness, but she surrenders to it and kisses Cosette deep and she loves the way her hands feel running through Cosette's soft hair. And for a moment, everything else melts away in the quiet blaze of the sunset and it's just her and it's just Cosette and it's just their lips and their skin and their breath and a radiant piece of happiness in her dark life that Éponine can finally have all to herself.