"CAN'T SLEEP?"
Camila turns around to see Laurent, barefoot and face full of sleep. She's perched by the windowsill, feeling the warmth drain from the mug of hot chocolate around her hands.
"Looks like you can't either," she says.
"I was just going to the bathroom." He laughs lowly and rubs his jaw. It's probably rough with hints of stubble and Camila scans his messy hair and wrinkled shirt, squinting in the dim light.
"I'm too full. Can't sleep. Also, Jeremy snores and moves too much."
Their sleeping arrangements go along like this: Elle and Roma in the "master" bedroom, Jeremy and Camila on two twin beds ("I can't believe they're charging us for these cots."), and Laurent on the couch. It's certainly made the apartment-suite a bit cramped but nonetheless, it's a wonderful way to spend Christmas night.
"You wanna switch?" Laurent asks.
Camila shakes her head. "I like the view over here. Not too much into sleep right now."
A minuscule humming comes from the heating and the atmosphere feels drunken, teeming with warmth and a feeling fulfilled. The mute orange coming from the streetlights below basks them in a light that reminds Camila of summer days, even as snow deftly piles up outside.
"Well..." she says, "are you going to pee?"
Laurent realizes he's still standing by the door, and he grins absentmindedly before shutting the door behind him. The toilet flushes and the sink runs and Jeremy's still snoring in the background, probably dreaming of a certain holiday ballet by none other than Tchaikovsky. He reemerges and walks right up to where she's sitting. Camila makes room for him on the small ledge—she imagines it'd be the perfect size to read on a Sunday afternoon, with Vanilla curled up at her side.
"When are you back?" she asks. "New York, I mean. When are you moving here?"
"The 17th? Maybe sooner. I have to check with my mom," he says.
"Oh. How is she?"
"My mom? She's great. Less stressed when I'm not around that's for sure. But she says she misses me so I'll go home for a week and then...I'm here. Still need time away from me, huh?"
In the days that he's been back, there's a sort of newfound adulthood about him. Faintly even. Maybe it's the fact that he's not as clean-shaven but Laurent's a type of sensitive he never was before. Or maybe he's still smarting from their confrontation.
"No. No, of course not, I'm over that. I mean, are you though?"
"Yeah. Yes." He clears his throat. "You just seem uncomfortable."
"I'm—"
"Sorry. I'm probably projecting. I-I just don't want to do all that shit again, you know? Mila, are we ever...you know? Going to get past this?"
"Stop talking like an idiot." Camila gives his shoulder a playful push. She sighs dramatically. "I just want the old Laurent back."
"Be careful what you wish for," he teases.
They sit like that until they see little rays of sunshine. Laurent yawns and stretches, shirt riding up to show his lean and tanned abdomen. Propping his elbow on his knee, he buries his head in there and peeks up, with his pretty, four-dimensional eyes. His eyelashes are a shade darker than his hair and they curl in a way that makes Camila jealous.
"Shouldn't have kept you up," she whispers.
He shrugs. "Jeremy's loud ass sounds wouldn't have let me get any peace anyway. C'mon. Let's order breakfast."
"Room service? Isn't that expensive?"
"Hell yeah but I'm still doing it. Your boy's gotta live a little before he's stuck in college stressing his hairline away."