Disclaimer: Guess who still doesn't own iCarly? THIS GIRL.

She's always the first one to wake up. She's always the first one to roll out of bed and start getting ready, but just for once, I wish it was me. Just for once I wish I could've woken up first, so I could savour this, so I could hold her with the cold morning light spilling over us, so I could watch her breathe, feel her warmth, smell her skin, without that haze of sleep, without that sheet of darkness spread over us. So it could make it real, make it honest, bring it into the light. But she's always the one who wakes up first, and today is no exception.

My arms are empty when I wake up, outspread, palms up, fingers loosely curled, and it's like they tried to grab her as she left, that even in my sleep I knew she was leaving. I bring them in close, knuckles brushing against my chest, rolling over groggily. I wish I could remember what her skin felt like, but it's lost from my fingertips, it's cooled like her side of the bed. I force my legs out from under the covers, lowering them to the floor, body twisted awkwardly. Okay, only the rest to go. I drag myself upright, tangled locks of blonde hair spilling in front of my eyes. I am not a morning person. At least I have breakfast to look forward to. I stretch, a hand absentmindedly scratching my stomach as I head out of Carly's room. Spencer'll make me waffles, and Carly'll pour me juice, and- Carly. I pause, bleary eyes opening fully. It's her mom's birthday today... I'd forgotten about that. I mean, I was aware of it, but it didn't... it didn't register. I should see if she's okay... I'll even pour my own juice.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, feet stumbling down the steps, Carly and Spencer are sitting at the table, and... they're chatting. Things are normal. And sometimes, when something's wrong, when everyone ignores it, sometimes you can feel it buzzing in the air like white noise, crackling over your skin, but there's nothing here. It's just quiet, but for the sound of them talking, the clinking of their bowls, their spoons, and I start to wonder if I imagined the whole thing, if I just dreamt everything with Carly, and she's really just fine. I grab a bowl from the cupboard, collapsing into a seat at the head of the table, grunting in reply to Spencer and Carly's 'good mornings'. I watch the cereal as it tumbles into my bowl, drowning it in milk and setting the bottle down on the table, reaching for my spoon, and my eyes are watching my hand, my fingers as they circle around the silver stem of the spoon. My hand remembers holding hers, it remembers being entwined, skin to skin with her. It wasn't a dream. It was different, because of that... because she asked, because she held my hand.

I'm still not awake enough to join in Spencer and Carly's conversation, just focussing on spooning the sweet, crunchy cereal into my mouth. From what I pick up, they're talking about a sculpture that Spence is about to start working on. He just needs about twenty broken toasters and some fake grass. It's weird, but I feel... okay. This past week, every second I've spent with Carly, every second I've spent away from her... it's all been about her... no, about me, and how I feel about her. I've been running on hormones, on every touch, every sigh, and I've been reading into everything too much, and ignoring what was written straight in front of me. I should've noticed how she was acting, I should've picked up that something was wrong. That's what a best friend does, and I keep making myself something else to her. But it's gone, it's changed, and... what I did in her bathroom was the best thing I could've done. It's relieved that tension, it's switched my brain on again. I can be the friend it's taken me so long to be. Because that's all I am, and I need to stop thinking, stop feeling like I'm more, because I'm not. And I wish it was enough.

I drop my spoon with a clatter, licking the last traces of the cereal-sweetened milk from my lips, a hand swiping over my mouth roughly. And then Carly's motioning me up from the table, and I barely hear her words, searching her face, her voice for some sign that she's not okay, that... that how she acted last night, what she said to me... to see if that's still in her, still niggling away at her. But either she's hiding it too well or it's not there, because all I hear is Carly, that soft, gentle voice, all I see is her face, radiant even in the morning, her brunette hair tangled, but still so thick and glossy, and there's never a moment that I see her that the breath in my lungs doesn't hitch to whisper 'Carly'.

I follow her up the stairs, keeping my eyes down, keeping them on her heels as they step up, up, up, the muscles working. Any higher and I'd see her calves, her thighs, and of all the days for her to wear pyjama shorts, this isn't the best. I need to keep my heart apart, shut in a box, just for the day... and if I can do that, maybe I can start shutting it in longer. And maybe one day, I won't have to let it out, maybe one day it'll accept it's fate and be content there, locked inside the bars of my ribs.

She starts stripping almost as soon as we reach her room, shoulderblades cutting the porcelain of her back before her dark hair spills down, shirt tugged off, and I turn quickly to close her door, to force that rush of hormones back down my throat. I can't help but turn back, can't help but watch the way she moves, the way her muscles play underneath her skin, and everything in her, the flesh, the blood, the bones; they all came together to make her, to make the curve of her waist and the line of her spine, they all came together to make this girl. To make Carly.

I don't know why she's never kicked me out while she's changing. When you're kids, it doesn't matter, clothes are still uncomfortable, you don't need them yet. It doesn't matter if they're on or off, clean or dirty, because your skin was always enough to cover you. It's supposed to change. I know it changed between me and Melanie, and we're the same. But it didn't feel right, it didn't feel comfortable, and I don't know whether it's because Carly trusts me, or whether she doesn't have that sense of shame that most people develop.

I tug my own shirt over my head, the smell of cotton and my hair buffeting my face, tickling my nose, cutting my stare for a moment. I've never cared about my body. It's just a shell, just something I use to get around in. It's got bruises and scars, and a mole just under my ribs, but it doesn't make it me. Having a twin makes you realise that. You live behind your eyes then. It's just a canvas of what I've done, not who I am. And I know that even if Carly did look, she wouldn't see anything. Just Sam.

My head comes free, and I realise I should've thought ahead. I have no clean clothes. I hold the bunched up shirt in front of me. "Uh... Carls?"

She turns, elbows at sharp angles as she fumbles with the catch to her bra, hands hooked behind her back, and I try to tug my eyes up, try to keep them away from the swell of her chest. But there's no safe place to rest on her, and I can feel my heart racing from where my hands are curled in the shirt, pressed against my chest. She gets it finally, brow smoothing out from where it was furrowed in concentration, and I tear my eyes up to her face as she looks at me. Sometimes I wonder how she can be so oblivious, how she can not feel my eyes crawling over her, like insects over her skin. Sometimes I wonder how she doesn't notice what she does to me, how often she makes my words stick in my throat. But maybe it's been happening so long she's gotten used to it. She points to the dresser beside me, where there's a little pile of clothes neatly folded. Of course. She thinks ahead, whereas I forgot about it until I was nearly naked. I nod, sifting through them. I've stayed over here enough so that some of my clothes have gotten left behind... and it helps that Carly's the same size as me. I dress quickly, turned away from her; I'm already finding it hard to be her friend, my heart is already rattling the bone bars of it's prison. A smile tugs at Carly's face when I turn back to her, doing the last button of my plaid top up. "Any bad dreams?"

I shake my head. "What about you?"

And for a second I see a shadow in her eyes, but it's fleeting, banished by the light of her smile. "Actually I slept really well."

I nod, eyes cast to the floor before flicking back up, mouth twisting. "Carly... are you okay?"

Her dark eyebrows dip down, smile still on her pink lips. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Carly has the unique ability to make me doubt myself, again and again, even when I know what happened. I think she could convince me of almost anything. Sometimes I wonder if she could talk me out of loving her. Maybe one day she will. "Because of... of your mom."

And that ghost is behind her eyes again, hollowing out her smile until it collapses in on itself, turning into a sigh. "That was stupid. I was being stupid. She... she died a long time ago. It's in the past."

I frown. "It's not stupid."

She steps closer to me, adamant. "Yes, it is. I barely even knew her."

"She was still your mom."

Carly shakes her head. "She was my biological mom. She never... I grew up without her. She was my mother, not my mom."

I chew my lip, moving closer to Carly and shrugging, a hand pushing lightly at her shoulder. "Hey, mom's suck anyway. You remember what my mom got me for my birthday last year?"

A grin steals across Carly's face, her nose wrinkling. "What, that lotion?"

"Hey, my skin was never smoother." I jump my eyebrows at her until she laughs, and that darkness behind her eyes is extinguished, at least for now. I might be terrible at comforting people, or helping them with their problems in a way that doesn't involve violence, but if there's one thing I can do, it's distract them. And that's my job for today; to distract Carly, and to distract myself. If I can focus on her, on making her happy, then maybe I can forget how hard my heart is beating, how hot my skin feels, how tied my tongue is. Maybe I can be the Sam my body says I am, and not the girl behind my eyes, who desperately wants the girl behind Carly's eyes.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've had what they call 'writer's block', that is, I was struck on the head by a large block of concrete, and have only now remembered who I am.

Also, in protest, my home internet decided to go on strike, however, started working basically as soon as I called to get it fixed. I will punish it's insolence accordingly, by making it download a ton of perverted porn involving modems. It will learn not to mess with me T^T

Anyway, here we are, so... review. ^_^