Éponine woke up to a pounding head and a mouth full of Grantaire's shirt. She blinked confusedly into his chest for a few seconds, then peeled herself off of him just enough to stare. First she took in the large spots of wetness on his shirt that were probably her drool. Then she looked up, and took in his smirking face.
"You like to cuddle when you're drunk," he said simply, his eyes glinting with mirth.
Éponine made a snorting sound like that of an irritated bull. "Oh shut up." She pushed herself up into a seated position and, groaning, pressed a hand to her forehead. Then she squinted at the light filtering through the window. "Have I been here all night?" she asked.
"Yup." Grantaire sat up as well. "And all morning."
It was well past noon already. Grantaire had been awake for a couple hours, but decided he didn't mind continuing to let Éponine sleep against him. It was a welcome change, having someone he actually cared about in his bed. He even thought to himself (with a touch of humour, but total sincerity) that on any given night he'd happily pass up sex with one of the unknown wenches he'd bring home from bars in exchange for Éponine drooling on his shirt.
"Merde." Éponine hopped off the bed. She wobbled and Grantaire caught her elbow. "Where's my cap?" she asked, patting her head.
Grantaire nodded to one of the liquor crates, which he'd put the cap on top of after removing it from Éponine's head last night. "You off already?"
"Yeah. I'd better."
"You don't want to try to kick the hangover first? I know some tricks."
"Nah, I'm fine." She hurried over to snatch up her cap and pressed it onto her head. When she took hold of the doorknob, she paused and looked back at Grantaire. "Um. Thanks. For – y'know. Taking care of me."
The words tasted so stupid in her mouth and she grimaced as they came out. She turned hurriedly to leave before Grantaire could see the slight flush on her normally sallow cheeks - and before she could see his pleased smile.
"You missed. 'Parnasse. Again."
Thénardier punctuated each segment of the phrase with a vicious slap across Éponine's face.
Azelma whimpered quietly in the corner. But it wasn't until her father closed his hand into a fist that she started to sob aloud.