Woo! I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this story- you all make me so excited! I'm going to apologise in advance for any mistakes, I wanted to get this out as soon a possible, so I haven't proof read it.... whoops.

Anyway, Jasper moves in....

Predictable

Once again, I am on the sofa, but this time my mind is fluttering. I think of the things we could do, and I'm unusually excited.

Edward. His name is old fashioned, and yet I didn't try to make fun of it. Moreover, I am looking forward to just living with someone. No matter how many girls I brought over, how many parties I had, it did get lonely, I can't deny that.

This week has trailed its heavy feet on the ground. I called Lauren yesterday. I am counting the days until I can move. I try to preoccupy myself with watering my plants, but it is hopeless. They are brown and crispy and dead. They fall apart in my hands and I end up throwing them in the bin.

I spend some time in garden, thinking. The summer air is light and breezy, not harsh and crisp. I welcome it, and take deep breaths. I try not to think about moving, but my mind wanders if I don't give it direction. I listen to songs I haven't listened to for years. I feel young again, and childhood memories come back and seize my mind. I call my mother, just for the sake of calling.

"Hello."

"Hi mum."

"Jasper? It's so good to hear from you! Is anything wrong?" the excitement is evident in her voice- I haven't called in months.

"Everything's fine. Can't I just call you to hear your voice?"

She laughs, "I'm sorry, love, you haven't called for a long time. How are you?" I suddenly feel guilty for not calling.

"I'm fine, mum, how are you?" my attempt at conversation is horrendous, but I feel awkward. After months of no contact, there isn't much to talk about besides the obvious. People have become too predicable, and I do not want to share opinions on petty subjects such as the weather. Small talk is overrated.

"Oh, let's not talk about me! Are you starting uni soon? Have you found an apartment? Please tell me you have, Jasper, because I know how you are about these things."

"Next Wednesday. And funnily enough, I have. I'll be sharing with another guy, and I'm moving on Saturday."

"Oh good. Listen, we can come down and help you pack and move. You know your father hasn't seen you in ages. It would be great, we could even go down to that old resta-"

"Mum, it's fine really. I can handle it, there's no need," I feel uncomfortable, and try to look for ways of escape.

"Oh, well never mind, we can come down another time," the hurt is evident in her voice, and my stomach clenches. I can't do this anymore.

"Mum, I have to go. Someone is calling me. I'll call you later," my words push at each other, all trying to come out at the same time. I put the phone down straight after I hear her say goodbye. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach, and my heart aches. I walk inside, embracing the coldness of the house, and reach for a bottle of Johnny Walker's whisky. I take a swig, enjoying the velvety coating it gives my throat, and take another. Before I know it, I am bored and slightly drunk.

I study the bottle. The slogan catches my eye through the fog. Keep walking. Through my drunken haze, I decide that will be my motto in life.

Keep walking.

******

Saturday has finally come. I awake early, and for once, I've prepared myself the night before. My house is full of boxes. Edward called two days ago and kindly asked if I wanted some help, and of course, I accepted.

I sit in the kitchen for the last time, on the polished worktop. The only sounds to be heard are my heels repeatedly banging on the side. I look around, but there is nothing to look at. My life is in a pile of boxes, taped and ready to go wherever someone takes them. My stomach tingles with the excitement, even though I am hungry. There are only two beers and all the food is gone except from some decaying mini pitta bread in the cupboard that I refuse to touch. The landlord can deal with that.

The house looks wrong without any possessions from my life in it. It doesn't look lived in, although I do not care. This was never my home, and never will be.

It starts raining, making soft plinks on the glass. I look through the window as the rain covers everything, washes everything away. It cleans everything.

I turn back and take another swig of Johnny Walker's. It burns my throat now, offering no comfort, yet I take another swig before carelessly dumping it in the bin. The glass gives out a muffled smash, and I flinch. I feel as if I should clean it up, but my muscles are aching and my head is aching and I just cannot be bothered.

My doorbell rings. It is Edward, and I impatiently jump off the counter. My palms make imprints on the worktop and I hastily try to wipe them away before turning back to the door.

He stands modestly, his cheeks a soft pink from the wind. The small droplets of water glisten like diamonds and contrast wonderfully with his coppery hair. The beginnings of a playful smile escape through his lips, and I cannot help but to notice how they meet perfectly. My stomach hurts all of a sudden, but I manage to involuntarily smile back.

"Look!" he says rather happily, without greeting, as if there is no need for one. I look to where his arms are outstretched, and standing there is a large white removal van.

"Edward," I pause, letting his name play on my lips, "You really didn't have to do that, we could have just used our cars."

"Yes, but we would have had to make several trips. Now, we can just make one. It's cheaper and it saves fuel. Trust me." I want to believe that there was some sort of double meaning to his words, but the logical side of me brushed that away almost immediately.

"Well, would you like to have a beer or something before we leave?" I try to be as polite as possible to him. He frowns.

"Sorry, I don't drink and drive," his voice quietens and all the excitement from before is gone. Fool! I inwardly curse myself for being so stupid, and try to backtrack as soon as possible.

"Oh, God, yes, I'm sorry, I really didn't think…Ha, beer, I can't believe I asked that," I laugh uneasily, a nervous, forced laugh. My fingers curl around themselves, stretching the skin over the knuckles. I have to stop myself from hitting my thigh repeatedly. Thankfully, he smiles and changes the subject.

"Shall we start?" I turn to let him through, and he brushes past. His smell assaults my nose, and I marvel at it before having to stop myself. He turns to face me, closer than he's ever been, grinning yet again. I take a step back, scared of the closeness, but immediately realise my mistake. His smile falters and his eyes take to the ground. He starts fiddling with his lithe fingers, twisting them this way and that. I realise that this is his way of regretting his move.

I try to make him feel more comfortable, but it has no effect. We work in an awkward silence. I wait until he comes back from the van so I can go without having to squeeze past him on the way. I think he's realised what I'm doing, so he sticks the boxes in the van as quickly as possible, without bothering to arrange them, so that I can go. I feel that anything I say will worsen the situation, so I keep my mouth closed. Occasionally, I peek through my eyelashes to see the muscles in his forearms flicker when he picks a box up. I watch him until he goes out of the door, away from my sight, and feel a strange emptiness loom over me before wondering what the hell I am doing. It still hasn't stopped raining.

******

The drive to Edward's house, to my house, is laboured. We make small talk about the songs they put on the radio, and about cars, although my knowledge isn't as good as his, and I feel envious. I want to impress him somehow, but I have no idea how. I try to think of something witty to say, but my mind fails to produce anything, and I end up keeping quiet.

We get to the house in good time. We try to unload everything as soon a possible, for the rain is more intense. The boxes are fine, but we are both soaked.

I step into the living room. It looks so much small because of all my things crowded in the corners. With a sigh, I fall onto the couch and close my eyes, letting it envelop me. The house is warm, and I want to feel at home, but I can't, because of Edward. I would be living with him, and now, the prospect scared me. The awkwardness was uncomfortable earlier today, and I don't want it to be like that all the time.

I hear footsteps, and I open my eyes. Edward shakes his hair, small raindrops flicking in every direction. He looks almost like a small boy who'd just been playing outside when he wasn't supposed to. He was smiling when he came in again.

"Tired?"

"God, yes," I chuckle.

"Well, I'm not going to cook and I doubt you're going to, so I think we deserve some pizza," he beams, and I can't stop myself from laughing at the expression on his face.

"What? It's true!" he's back, I think, he's back. The emptiness leaves my stomach, and I feel much better.

"Pizza's great," I agree.

******

We watch some sort of quiz show, although that is just background noise and I do not pay attention to it. Edward, I find, is much more interesting. He slouches on his armchair, legs spread out with a pizza in his hand. He looks so much more relaxed- I haven't seen him like this. But what am I talking about? I've only known the guy for a week, not even that.

We ask each other questions, although mine are nothing in comparison with his. He skips the normal things like age and place of birth, and goes straight onto deeper ones.

What are my religious views? I have none.

How do I feel about life? It's fucking great.

Do I believe in love? It's not for me.

I've never thought about these things before, so my answers are short and simple. I sound stupid, and only manage to ask him uninteresting questions, which he answers almost without thinking.

I feel more relaxed, and this feels like home now. Edward and me, over a slice of pizza. It feels great.

I finally think of a question to ask him, one that had been playing on my mind.

"Why did you look for a roommate?"

His eyes turn more distant, before he replies with a shrug, "I was lonely, I guess."

At night, I pull the covers up to my chin and lie there and stare at the ceiling.