Well. This chapter was incredibly hard to write, because of the heartbreaking inevitability and stoicism these two exhibit. These boys be breaking my heart.
Let me know what you think!
/FmD/
It is Edward's wedding night.
Jasper stands beside him in the hotel room where they got ready in the morning that seems distant now. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he straightens the cuff of Edward's shirt, his fingers lingering for a fraction too long, because he cannot help himself, and Edward has the audacity to look fucking grateful for his touch, even if his eyes are devastatingly cold.
They are still wearing suits that match, the colour of Jasper's pocket square an exact replica of the crushed velvet coloured rose over Edward's heart. The gold band on Edward's left hand catches the light, and Jasper swallows hard, forcing down the weight in his chest.
He tries to ignore the dead look in Edward's eyes that is reflected in his own.
He tries not to focus on the enormity of what is happening, tries not to think at all, tries to limit his thoughts to singular tasks-like the cuff links in Edward's shirt, and keeping his smile firmly in place, even if it doesn't reach his eyes.
Edward is watching him, he knows that, drawing from his strength, and Jasper feels weary, weakened by the pull-the undertow-of their relationship.
He doesn't want to think about how long he's been drowning.
He tries not to think about the ceremony, about the way that Edward's gaze lingered on his best man instead of his bride, the tremor in his voice betraying him as he gave his vows. Tries not to think of all the things he would never be able to give Edward, even if the circumstances were different.
In the month between the election and the inauguration, Edward's father had insisted.
Because there would be a lull in the press, and he wants Edward to be notorious.
He is.
Cullen has become a household name in America, both for its notoriety and its glamour. Edward and Bella are a model couple of well kept secrets and chaste kisses, of well-dressed notoriety and Hollywood class.
The wedding was beautiful. Tasteful, classic perfection, in spite of the media circus that came along with it.
Everyone, including the press, got to be a part of it-because Edward's life is inclusive now, no part of it truly his own-and even though Jasper knows his best friend would have preferred an intimate celebration, perhaps on the Atlantic shore where they spent so many summers, Edward played his role flawlessly-almost-as he walked down the aisle to stand at the front of the overwhelmingly large church.
Part of Jasper wishes for a confession from Edward, for some tangible proof that what he feels is real, but he knows that will never come. Edward will put his duty as president, as a politician, as a faithful husband before himself, and even though it is breaking Jasper's heart, he knows that he would not feel the same way about him if that was not the case.
He knows that Edward loves Bella. Not in the aching, fierce, desperate way that he loves Jasper-the bone deep way that cuts through the layers of flesh, making it impossible to stay away from one another, though they'd probably both be better for it-but Edward loves her all the same.
And they are close, the closeness of standing together in the face of constant scrutiny and imitation, the closeness of good friends, contented by the other's presence.
Jasper finishes fastening the cuff links in Edward's shirt, taking a deep breath before he straightens, willing everything he is feeling behind the walls he's constructed so carefully. But Edward's eyes are stark and glassy when he meets his gaze in the mirror, and Jasper's heart stops.
They simply stare at each other for a long moment, and for a single instant, it seems to Jasper that Edward will not be able to go through with this.
Edward's hand is suddenly in his, their fingers laced together with a white knuckled grip, insistent, desperate, all the emotions that Edward keeps hidden from the world that Jasper somehow brings out in him over and over. It is the closest to a confession of love that Edward will ever come.
"She's a virgin, Jazz. A fucking virgin. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
His voice breaks, and the guilt is eating Edward alive, even if Jasper suspects that Bella has always known her role in this, and he knows that his best friend will not be able to go through with this without his blessing.
He steps in front of Edward, so that he is meeting his stricken, desolate expression directly-and in the back of his mind, something surfaces about Icarus, and flying too close to the sun-and puts both his hands on Edward's shoulders, hoping his touch will absorb some of the panic that he can see rising in Edward's eyes.
"She's your wife."
"She's too good for me."
There is incontrovertible truth to his statement, though too good is not really what Edward means, and the vulnerability of this moment leaves Jasper achingly aware that she's not you is what he does. Like everything else that's passed between them, the truth is buried in the nuance.
Edward's hand clenches in the fabric of Jasper's dress shirt beneath his jacket, his touch cold and faint against the warmth of Jasper's heart, a metaphor for everything they've never said, his head falling to Jasper's shoulder. Jasper doesn't know what to say-he is torn between wanting, selfishly, to keep Edward, to walk away from everything they've ever known except each other and never look back, but a part of him knows that Edward would never be able to forgive himself for that, which leaves him with only bland reassurance and empty promises to offer.
"It will be fine."
It will be. Jasper knows this, even as he tries to force down the sick feeling that comes with the thought of Edward being with someone else. Because Edward is many things, but he is measured in his actions-always-and though this may not be what he wants, he will be sure that Isabella will not regret it.
Isabella is hardly the first woman Edward has been with-his promiscuity in their university days had been both shocking and a little reckless-but no one had ever stuck until Bella. Somehow, though, this means more.
Jasper's back hits the mirror abruptly-he hadn't even been aware that they were moving-and Edward's body is suddenly flush against his, a single tear spilling down his cheek, delicious friction.
Edward's breath is ragged, but Jasper cannot tell if it is from crying or their proximity, his own light-headedness the only indicator that it might be from something other than emotion. Edward is searching his gaze, his eyes begging Jasper to understand, and Jasper wants to reassure him, wants him to know that they will be fine, too, but he can't quite find the words-and probably would not be able to voice them, even if he could.
They are so far beyond the conventions of friendship, so far beyond any of the lines that have always been just a little blurry anyways, and Jasper suddenly finds himself paying little credence to the strict rules that normally make their flawed relationship functional, arching into Edward just to feel him push back, just to know that he wants this just as badly as Jasper does.
It is wrong, selfish, and he knows it, knows that he should reign in the overwhelming desire and stopthis moment before it progresses any further-but the look in Edward's eyes is as intoxicating as it is dangerous, and Jasper wants to push him, wants to know what comes beyond the breaking point.
They are sharing a single breath, close enough to kiss, chest to chest, and Jasper can feel Edward's desperation as he wrenches at the fabric of his shirt, feels the top button give and skitter across the floor. There is no calm as his fingertips meet Jasper's stuttering heartbeat against his bare skin, setting his entire body on fire, and Jasper watches dazedly as Edward's teeth sink into his lower lip, pain the only possible deterrent from this.
The world slows, suspending them against each other, and Jasper barely has time to recognize the wild look, the frustration in Edward's eyes, though he knows it is doubtlessly reflected in his own, before Edward's fist connects with the mirror above his head, and they are bathed in a shower of shattering glass and distorted shards of themselves. It is a baptism of sorts, Edward's hand resting on Jasper's chest for a single heartbeat as shimmering fragments of glass rain over them, as if his touch can protect Jasper from the sharp edges and jagged corners.
For an instant, they don't move, silenced by the impact, but Edward's hand is ribboned, blood spilling onto the carpet as he shakes it out, and he is breathing hard.
They both are- breathless and blown pupils, hypersensitive nerves and glittering fragments of mirror caught in their clothes as they pull away from each other, and this is the breaking point, the shock of blood and shattered glass almost enough to bury the desperate desire, but not quite. His shirt is torn open, Edward's blood is streaked across his neck, crimson against the collar of his dress shirt, and Jasper knows he looks utterly wrecked.
From the predatory look in Edward's eyes as he surveys the damage, it suits him.
Slowly, carefully, as if he is approaching a savage animal-because for the first time, Jasper truly isn't sure how Edward will react, Jasper takes Edward's damaged hand in his own, using one of the hotel washclothes to stop the worst of the bleeding, removing his wedding band with gentle fingers to assess the damage. His palm is gashed open, and smaller cuts spiderweb across his fingers, but the physical damage is not irreparable.
"Jazz..."
Edward's voice is soft, broken, and when he brushes his fingertips across Jasper's cheek, they come away bloody. Jasper hadn't even realized he was bleeding, the ache in his chest numbing him to anything else.
"I'm fine."
He brushes Edward off without meeting his eyes, knowing that if he does, they will be thrown right back into this, and Jasper isn't sure if he has the strength to walk away twice. Instead, he steels himself and tries to pretend his heart isn't breaking, bandaging Edward's hand as best he can using what he can find in the bathroom.
"Bella is waiting."
Jasper hates the weakness in his voice.
"Jasper..."
Edward's voice is full of regret, of longing and promises that are not his to make, but Jasper cannot look at him, because he knows he will see his own heartbreak reflected in Edward's eyes, and it will bring him to his knees.
"I'll see you in the morning."
The dawn seems so far off, but Jasper knows that if Edward doesn't leave now, he never will.
It is not until after Edward has gone that Jasper realizes he has forgotten his wedding ring, tucked away in Jasper's pocket for safekeeping, leaving Jasper to deal with the bloodstains and shards of broken glass that he leaves in his wake.
/FmD/
Well, there you have it. Pretty heartbreaking.
The next chapter is fun/silly/sweet, though, I promise, and it will also be the last chapter before they actually get together.
As always, review, review, review!