Chapter 1: Drumming Song

"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an all mighty sound"

I'm singing under my breath as I stalk through the aisles of the grocery store, grabbing what might seem to be random items to anyone bored—or pervy—enough to watch a nineteen year old dance through the store. A bottle of green apple scented shampoo, a twelve-pack of Diet Coke that will last a month and a half, three pears, a box of Mini Wheats, spaghetti noodles, a Hot Wheels car, salmon, garlic… I shove and/or drop it all into my cart, going from the list in my head and allowing myself to grab whatever strikes my fancy. I can't pass up the chocolate chips either—cravings.

"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That throws me to the ground
I swear that you should hear it
It makes such an all mighty sound"

I smile at the old woman who is trying to get her catnip from the top shelf, but I'm even shorter than she is and I can't jump for goldfish. She seems kind of weirded out by me anyway—just because I'm bouncing to the tune feeding through my headphones, alone in the grocery store at 11:21 at night, she decides I'm a schizophrenic freak with the voice of an emu talking to me.

I'm about to turn out of the catnip aisle when he turns the corner, wiping his hands on the bottom of his long black apron. The small red scripted thread spells out 'Edward' on his chest, a name I've pretty much sewed onto my heart to replicate his uniform. He smiles at the old woman, and I just about swoon in the middle of the store as the pearly whites flash even under fluorescent lighting.

He looks at me out of the corner of his too-green eye, and I absently move my gaze to the shampoo in my cart, comparing the colors. No, his eyes are prettier, by far. "I'll be with you in just a moment," he tells me, friendly and helpful; I have to read his lips to understand because my music is so loud, but I know that his voice is unintentionally caressing and stroking my skin like the fingers I've so often imagined at night. I blush at the thought of my activities concerning thoughts of his long fingers.

Edward passes me, saves Granny Evil-Eye, presents her catnip with a flourish, knocks the old woman to the ground dead with a heart attack—I wish—and then turns to face me. I'm still standing where he left me, gazing at him while my body mindlessly moves with the music. True to my song, my mind is incapable of thought, drowning in his proximity.

"Louder than sirens
Louder than bells
Sweeter than heaven
And hotter than hell"

"Do you need any help?" he mouths, leaning on the side of my cart now and smiling at me.

My knees knock against each other once before I snap them back into place. Shaking fingers sneak up to my headphones and pull them out. "Sorry, I couldn't quite hear you?" I say, pretending I haven't studied those sculpted lips enough to recognize the words he says even without sound.

He chuckles, and I bite my lip. "What are you listening to?"

"Florence + the Machine," I answer, tucking my hair behind my ear and grinning at him, wondering if he'll recognize it.

"I ran to a tower where the church bells chime
I hoped that they would clear my mind
They left a ringing in my ear
But that drum's beating loud and clear"

I stare at him, flabbergasted. If I thought his talking voice was liquid sex, I didn't have high enough praise for his singing. Edward looks at me and his fair cheeks flush a pale pink, seeping up from the stubble on his neck and jaw. "Sorry, I know I don't normally sing for customers, but I love the song."

"Me too," I agree, having a small party with balloons, confetti, and frog guests in my head. We have something in common. "I didn't actually think you'd get it tonight."

"Don't I every night?" he asks, and the smile has transformed into a teasing know-it-all smirk that makes my legs turn to jelly. I grab the cart in support, attempting to be casual about it.

Granny Evil-Eye passes, and true to her name, she glares at me before nodding at him.

"Most nights," I argue, drawing his attention to me again. "You didn't get Amanda Ghost."

"And you didn't get Frightened Rabbit," he reminds me, uncrossing his arms to point an elegant finger at me, accusing and still somehow incredibly hot. I want to dip that finger in chocolate frosting and lavishly clean it off with my tongue.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, we're even, for now."

"What will you stop by for tomorrow evening?" he asks, cocking his head and pushing his unruly hair back out of his face, where it sticks up in a bronze tribute to sex, frozen as if his hand had mousse dispensers in it.

"We'll see," I smirk, glancing over his shoulder to see a manager turn the corner.

"Louder than sirens
Louder than bells
Sweeter than heaven
And hotter than hell"

Edward notices and hurriedly corrects his stance. "Do you need anymore help, miss?" His voice has lost the playful tone I memorized over the past month and a half of shopping at night. Now he sounds like he's talking to a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit, polite and respectful.

"No, thank you. Have a good evening," I say in the same kind of voice.

Edward's green eyes seem to sigh, and he offers me an apologetic smile before joining the manager in his stroll through the store.

"As I move my feet towards your body
I can hear this beat; it fills my head up
And gets louder and louder
It fills my head up and gets louder and louder"

I blow my bangs angrily out of my face, letting my annoyed expression take up residence on my too-easily-read face now that he's out of reach. I shove the cart down the aisle toward the front of the store and the checkout lines, knowing I won't see him anymore tonight.

One of the Not-Edward's helps me out to the truck, flirting ineptly, and I put my headphones back in to block him out, hoping the Not-Edward will get the hint and realize a floral supply store would be more interested in him.

The truck rumbles to a start, thankfully, and I glance back toward the store just in time to see Edward crossing in front of the automatic glass doors. He waves at me, and I wave back before putting the truck in gear and backing out.

I think I'll need the ingredients for chicken tikka masala tomorrow. And I need to review my more obscure music to make sure I'm ready for his challenge.

"I run to the river and dive straight in
I pray that the water will drown out the din
But as the water fills my mouth
It couldn't wash the echoes out
But as the water fills my mouth
It couldn't wash the echoes out"

Jasper is rushing around the apartment when I get back, and barely spares me a 'hello, midget' before disappearing into the bathroom with his shaving kit. I roll my eyes and sit down at my computer to open my iTunes library. It takes about five minutes for it to get up and running now, what with filling most of my storage space with 16,534 songs.

My roommate and best friend tumbles out of the bathroom with shaving cream on his shirt collar, looking for all the world like he had just run into a lion hiding under the toilet lid. I lift an eyebrow, glance pointedly at the clock, and say, "What kind of fuckery is this, Jazz Pants?"

"Shut up, freak in green," he orders, diving into the swamp of his room.

I snicker and stand to lean on his doorframe, watching him hop around on one foot as he attempts to pull on a wrinkled black sock. I wonder if I should tell him it's my sock and wont' fit him, but decide not to. "I'm wearing teal, Jasper. What's up with you? You're acting like you're on meth and coke at the same time. You aren't—right?"

"Fuck no—I'm not into that shit anymore, you know that," he says defensively, finally falling to the floor with a crash. I wonder if Emily is in her apartment downstairs and thinks Africa just dropped off some cargo in Jasper's room. "I'm just late, really really fucking late."

I glance at my watch and lift an eyebrow. "It's only 11:37, Jasper. You've got twenty-three minutes to get to work."

"What?" He jumps up and grabs my wrist, turning it so he can read it. "Fuck. Mine's upside down. It said it was 1:20 or some shit like that."

I laugh at him. "Detective Whitlock strikes again, eh?"

"Did you call me Jazz Pants?" he asks, falling onto his mattress for a moment.

"You are wearing them," I point out, motioning at the black trousers in question.

"They're not—Alice said… never mind," he gulps, noticing the evil smirk that twists my mouth up.

"So you've seen Alice tonight?" I inquire, hopping up onto his desk after pushing a pile of papers on the floor.

He glares at me, annoyed, and gets up to gather them out of the mire that's already his floor. Like seventy something papers makes that much difference.

"Yeah," he mutters unwillingly.

I reach down to pat his blond hair and he jerks away, pretending to bite me until I withdraw. "What were you guys doing?"

"We ate all the pretzels and watched your baby videos," he deadpans.

I glare at him and kick his shoulder lightly, smudging his tight white shirt. "No, really, what happened? Did you make a move yet?"

He groans and lets his head thump back into the drawer of the desk. "God, I hate having a girl for a best friend sometimes. Even if you're a tomboy, you've still got the urge to get all the newest gossip as soon as you can."

"I don't gossip!" I squawk indignantly. He glances up at me, and I blush. "Whatever. You should go to work—but don't think you're getting out of spilling the story!"

Jasper gets up, grabs his duffel bag and shoes, and trudges to the door, holding it open for me. I sulk out of the room and silently vow to call Alice and get the details.

"Well, did you make a move?" he asks, bending over to slip on his socks—his own this time.

My face immediately flames. "Uh… what are you talking about?" I ask.

Jasper glares at me as if I'm lying—which I am—and says, "If you're going to pry into my love life, expect the same treatment. I know you should be getting home around 10:15 at the latest, but you always find an excuse to stop at the store and get 'a few things' every night. Every night. That's really suspicious, Bells, don't say you didn't think I wouldn't notice."

"Can you use fewer negatives?"

"If you let go of your double standards," he wagers, and then kisses the top of my head. "Night, Bells. See you tomorrow afternoon in class."

"Night, Jazz," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "Have fun teaching all the weirdos to jazz dance in the middle of the night."

"Don't read too much until your eyes get all bloodshot again—you're pretty without all the red lines."

I lock the door behind him and head for the shower, shedding clothes as I walk through the apartment. By the time the water is running, I'm naked and staring at my reflection—brown hair, brown eyes, pink cheeks, fair skin, small waist, small boobs, small hips, big ears… okay, maybe not big ears, but everything else was accurate enough by my account. My tattoo stood out vividly against the skin over my hipbone—two swans, one black and one white, necks entwined. It was supposed to symbolize yin and yang, the balance in the world and how everyone had two pieces to them. I'd gotten them just a year ago.

I stepped into the hot water and sighed as it hit my back. The water made me think of the rain last night, which made me think of a wet Edward, which made my stomach muscles tighten. When I open my eyes this time, he's standing in the shower with me, leaning against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his sculpted chest. He reaches out and pulls me flush against him, long fingers curling around my waist possessively. "Mine," he whispers, breath hot on my neck as his hands move, one up and one down.

"I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole
Till there's nothing left inside my soul
As empty as that beating drum
But the sound has just begun"

I shiver as my fingers move through the curls, imagining it's Edward as my other hand moves up to cup my breast. I'm wet with more than just the shower water, and I moan softly as I put pressure on the heel of my hand below, ghosting the fingers above over my heated skin.

Edward's eyes are burning and searing, green and intense as his fingers slip into me, one, two, thumb on my clit. My eyes roll back in my head and I brace my back on the tiles, imagining his perfect body pressing me up against the wall, hot and slick and just so fucking attractive as he strokes me, adding to the fire within. His hand moves from my breast to cup my neck, and I can almost feel his open-mouthed kisses against the skin at the base of my throat.

I moan louder, feeling the spring coiling. "Edward," I gasp, and his fingers curl inside me, softly brushing against my g-spot before his pace increases. Within moments, the spring shoots off like a pen falling apart, and I slide down the wall to sit under the shower spray, panting and shaking as I pull my hand away. My pulse pounds through my body.

"As I move my feet towards your body
I can hear this beat; it fills my head up
And gets louder and louder
It fills my head up and gets louder and louder"

Fuck, I can't wait until I'm brave enough to ask him to do that to me for real. I've never really been able to reach a high like the one phantom-Edward gives me every night—I blame it on his fingers. I can't help but focus on them whenever I see him. They're beautiful, long and elegant, perfect for playing an instrument... and me.

"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an all mighty sound"

The apple-scented shampoo I bought earlier smells heavenly as I proceed with my shower routine, washing once and rinsing before running conditioner through the ends of my hair. I wash my face and body as the conditioner sets in, then wash everything off at once. Showers are my favorite time of day, other than shopping at the grocery store. There's something about hot water that soothes me and always ends my day on a good note.

I step out of the shower and towel off with a fluffy yellow monstrosity with a hood that Jasper got me for my thirteenth birthday—there's a blue duck on the pocket. Yeah, my favorite towel has a fucking pocket and a hood.

And yes, Jasper's that weird.

It'd actually been the first gift from a friend that I loved the moment I set eyes on it.

In eighth grade, Jasper had been new to the school—we started just four weeks before my birthday, and the small Texan boy was shy and spoke with an accent my peers seemed to love imitating. None of it was meant meanly, but I knew how it felt to be the new kid, and I took pity on him when he started eating alone at lunch and toting books around at breaks. He sat behind me in math, and one day he was really struggling. I could hear him muttering under his breath about the monkey-assed assignment, and found myself smiling as I turned to offer help.

Jasper at the age of thirteen was a sight to behold. Awkward, small, with wild eyes and wilder hair—nothing like his twenty-year-old self, put together and tall and lean with the calmest and neatest demeanor of anyone I knew. But in eighth grade, the boy was hopeless.

"The answer to twenty is x=24," I told him helpfully.

He glared at me. "I know," he muttered, and I stared at him, watching him blush as he wrote in the answer.

"Really, because you don't have any work to back that up," I said.

He looked at his paper, and his eyes unwillingly glanced at mine, full of the work needed. "I did it in my head."

"What's thirteen? I think I got it wrong," I said innocently, holding my paper in front of me so that the back faced him.

"Um… I…" He stammered at me, eyes panicked, and I turned to straddle the back of my chair.

"You don't have to be worried I'll make fun of you," I told him as I spun his paper to face me. "See, this is a kind of tricky problem. You kind of have to look at it differently than all the rest." I wrote slowly to preserve my chance at neatness as I explained how to work the problem.

He took his paper back and stared at it for a moment. "Oh," he finally said, surprise and reluctant gratitude coloring his accent.

"If you need anymore help, don't hesitate to ask," I warned him. "You don't want to get behind in this class."

"Thanks," he murmured as I turned around. I was glad he couldn't see my smile.

The next day, he approached me at my usual lunch table and asked for help. The towel was a thank you gift, and he claimed his mother bought it until he saw how much I liked it—he finally admitted it was his choice then. Things went on from there, and by the end of the year, we were inseparable.

There had been a few rough patches—of course. Junior year of high school, he started hanging out with the kids that enjoyed drugs more than a working brain. I stopped talking to him, hoping to make him kick the habit, but it didn't have any effect until the beginning of senior year when I fell down the stairs and split my head open and he was the only one in the hall to witness it. He was guilt-ridden, and thought that if he hadn't been on the drugs he might have been able to catch me instead of watching my blood puddle on the floor as the school surrounded me and waited anxiously for an ambulance.

I knew he hadn't a chance of saving me, but I let him go on thinking it was the drugs, because he finally started getting his act together. By the end of the year, he was clean, and he hasn't touched any since.

After we graduated, we both moved into Seattle for school, and we've been living together for the past two years or so. Jasper is working at a dance studio teaching jazz dances at night—which is partly where I got his nickname from—and I work in a bookstore around the corner from the apartment from six to ten on most weekdays. After work, I head over to the grocery store a few streets away and stalk the aisles with my iPod for company until I finally run into my Edward.

I blink and wrap my towel around me before leaving the bathroom—steam billows out after me, and I belatedly remember the fan Jasper is always urging me to use. I pull on my panties and a loose t-shirt I stole from Jazz before heading back out into the living room to pick up the clothes I had discarded earlier.

I sit down in front of my computer and press shuffle on iTunes before opening up a document and starting to fill in my outline for my essay on Tess of the d'Urbervilles; I'd gotten the basic points down, but I needed to add details and support for my thesis.

I'm halfway through the outline when the song breaks through my writing trance. I smile and sit back in my chair, closing my eyes and substituting Edward's voice for the British singer's.

"There's a drumming noise inside my head
That starts when you're around
I swear that you could hear it
It makes such an all mighty sound"

I wonder what song he'll choose for tomorrow—so far I've gotten everything from Blondie's 'Call Me' to Kings Of Leon's 'Closer,' as well as a few pieces of opera and jazz. Thank God my iTunes library had everything he'd chosen so far but for one song, which I'd promptly added later—Frightened Rabbit's 'The Twist.'

"Louder than sirens
Louder than bells
Sweeter than heaven
And hotter than hell"

I breathe in deeply through my nose and can almost smell him as if he's standing in front of me—I swear on my own future grave, he could bring me to my knees just by standing in front of a heater blowing his scent toward me. Spicy and crisp and warm—all man-boy and steamy and Edward, the perfect blend to get my girlie parts tingling in funny ways.

***

The first night I went to the grocery store, I had no idea what I would find there. Alice had just asked me to pick up a box of condoms for her—I'd blushed at the request, but I'd marched into the store with enough determination to rival that of a rhino's. Assuming, of course, that rhinos would plead for Alice to find someone—anyone—else to do this chore for her. But no luck, so I steeled myself and walked through those glass doors to meet my fate.

I was standing in the aisle staring at the wide expanse of safe-sex latex, utterly lost. It wasn't my job to go out and buy condoms, after all—that was for the guys putting their dick in someone to do. How the hell was I supposed to know if Alice preferred ribbed or what size she needed for her fuck-buddy?

Frustrated, I blew my bangs out of my face and wrinkled my nose, planting my hands on my hips and softly distracting myself by singing something by Phoenix. I didn't hear him the first time he said my name, or the second. But I definitely felt his hand brushing my wrist tentatively.

"Louder than sirens
Louder than bells
Sweeter than heaven
And hotter than hell"

I shrieked and promptly dropped my iPod as I jumped back, knocking into the shelf and knocking several boxes to the floor.

When I looked for the source of my disruption, the man-boy in front of me was ducking to pick up my iTouch. He glanced up, still kneeling on the ground, and I gasped aloud—he was gorgeous and perfect and I immediately based all the requirements for my future husband on this man's appearance.

He was blushing, very slightly as he held it up for me. "Most people only know 1901," he said quietly as I reached out to take it back, "but Lisztomania is my favorite."

I felt my eyebrows rise. "You know this song?"

"Yeah, I recognized the lyrics when you were singing—I'm sorry for surprising you," he said apologetically, standing up—he was taller than I'd realized, and I updated my future-husband profile.

"Oh… uh… it's no problem, really," I said, my blush finally making its way onto my cheeks as I looked down at the spilled boxes all around us on the floor. "Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry."

He glanced around at the mess, and I took the chance to look at the red stitched name I would now never forget. Edward.

"As you said, it's no problem, really. Erm… can I help you find anything?" he asked, a sheepish smile unfolding beautifully on his face.

I hesitated, and then blurted it out. "One of my friends sent me to pick up condoms for her, but I don't know what she wants or needs."

He chuckled then, and my heart just about failed. "Well… that does make this difficult, then."

Edward pushed his hand through his hair—this was the first time I'd seen him do it, and it instantly became my favorite nervous habit in a man. Imagine this—sent condom shopping and I find the man I'm basing my future husband off of.

"Yeah," I said awkwardly, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear and slipping my iPod back into the waistband of my skinny jeans, wrapping the headphone cord around my neck. I shifted my weight onto one foot and then the other, feeling embarrassed and interested despite myself.

"Do you… I mean…" He laughed uncomfortably, flushing lightly pink again. "I'm just going to… put these back on the shelf."

I ducked down to help him, my cheeks a furious red, and we stacked condom boxes quietly for a few minutes until there were only three left. I grabbed one and reached for the other, just managing to touch it before his hand closed over it as well.

I gasped and glanced up in surprise, and he was staring at me with wide eyes. "Sorry," he muttered, letting my hand go. I shoved the boxes on the shelf and rose to my feet unsteadily—he was rubbing his wrist with his other hand, looking just as discomfited as I felt.

"Well…" he sighed.

"I think… I'll just make her get them for herself," I said finally, pulling my bag farther up onto my shoulder.

He leaned against the shelf in front of me, and I was disconcerted by the intensity of his green gaze. "Good idea. I'm sorry I can't help you."

That was the first time I actually imagined this man and I together—he could have helped me if I had been shopping for him. I found myself wondering what size he was, and then felt supremely guilty. I was a sick, pervy girl, yes I was.

"Thank you anyways," I mumbled quietly, backing away one step.

"No, thank you—I've been trying to find a song all night to distract me," Edward said, and flashed me the prettiest crooked smile in existence.

"I wish I could have given you new music instead—I like expanding people's tastes," I admitted, curling a piece of my hair around my finger.

His smile widened and he straightened up, eyes suddenly brighter. "Me too. It's my favorite thing about music. There's so much of it and there's a lot of possibilities with it."

Possibilities, indeed. "I suppose I'll see you around, then. Thank you, again." I grinned shyly back at him, and turned to walk out of the store, picking an iTunes card up off a rack before I left. Might as well use the trip for something.

Something other than ogling my new obsession, I meant. And an obsession it was, truly.

***

I'd been back every night since then. After the first week, it was easily an expected thing for both of us.

The song ends and I sigh, looking at the clock. "Fuck," I mutter when I see that it's 2:13 in the morning. I have an early class tomorrow. This just fucking sucks ass.

I save the document, pleased that I made it through so much of it. By Saturday, I might actually be able to sit down and write the damn thing after a week of outlining and plotting.

I close down the computer and heave myself out of my seat to get a glass of ice water from the kitchen. I carry the cold glass to my room, set it on my nightstand, and put my iPod on the docking station before going to the bathroom. My teeth feel gross, and I brush them while silently singing to myself; I continue the song as I comb through my hair and put it up in a ponytail because it's already frizzy and tomorrow it will be even worse. Humming the same under my breath, I turn off the light in my room, pull Jasper's t-shirt over my head, and slide between my soft sheets.

It will take a while for me to fall asleep, despite how long I've been up now. I close my eyes and roll onto my stomach, curling an arm around the corner of my pillow and sighing. I know what I want for Christmas now. I want one of Edward's shirts, a bottle of cologne made from his scent, or Edward himself. I'll take what I can get, but somehow I'm getting that boy's smell. Would he be freaked out if I ask for it tomorrow?

I smile at the thought. Our first meeting was over condoms—I doubt much will damage our strange friendship-thingy. Maybe I can finally ask him what time he gets off work.

"As I move my feet towards your body
I can hear this beat it fills my head up
And gets louder and louder
It fills my head up and gets louder and louder"

....

AN--This will be a short story. I'm not sure how many chapters it'll generate, but it struck my fancy. We'll see where it goes. This song is awesome, by the way. Yay British iTunes for putting me onto it. :) How's it looking, guys? Good enough to continue or should I just focus on derivatives and Desdemona? Leave me a review with a musical recomendation, I'm always looking for new things to ad to my playlist. 5,000 words precisely, including the song. Night. :)

~ hyacinth