Apologies for the lateness of this update; we were super busy with school. In other news, we hope to return to our more frequent updates in June. Thanks for your guys's reviews and patience, we love you, kisses.
The movie theater wasn't too small—being the only one in the area, it had to have enough rooms to show all of the major releases at once, but it was quaint in appearance, with a cinema-style marquee over the wide glass doors, gold paint peeling off the ticket booths on either side of the outside entrance, and ancient red carpet throughout the concession stand area and on the front sidewalk under the awnings.
All in all, it was a bit cliché.
The left-hand corner of the theatre was empty, so they plopped down into the cleanest seats they could find (most of them had dried butter on the cushion or smelled overwhelmingly of spilled Kool Aid). The movie definitely wasn't Oscar winning material, but it was a good enough to maintain enough interest that Beau became invested in the storyline.
Edward could've been asleep for all he was paying attention. He kept glancing at Beau and fidgeting so that Beau found himself getting distracted by the movements until he finally gave up.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?"
"What? Oh, no, sorry." Edward seemed flustered at being caught, and if there was any light in the gallery Beau was sure he would have seen a blush grow on those marble cheeks.
"Okay then." Beau smiled to himself quietly and resolved to leave Edward alone. He didn't want to push him, and to be honest Beau was nervous too. He knew it wasn't really, but all the same it still felt remarkably like a date; the darkened lights, the movie, the way they were alone together, comfortable and yet nervous.
That was a really scary thought, though, so Beau just turned back to the screen where... Oh, you're kidding me. They're kissing already? You don't have time to make-out, the world is literally about to explode!
Beau chomped on his popcorn, disgruntled, watching as somehow the generically handsome white actor managed to somehow contact his genius sidekick and shut down the atomic bomb a few seconds before the ticker finished.
Beau sighed as the credits rolled, sipping water to wash out the salt hiding behind his teeth before standing up, stretching leisurely, his t-shirt rolling up onto his hip bones.
"You wanna head out?" he asked Edward, turning, smiling as he grabbed his coat.
Edward blinked, eyes bright in the dark of the room, like a cat. "We could stop at my house," he suggested, gripping the arms of his seat tightly. "My parents are out of town for the weekend—they're networking upstate."
"Ooh." Beau smirked good-naturedly. "Edward Cullen: rebel teen gone wild." And then, seriously, "Sure, why not?" He grabbed his crutch to walk—which, ugh. He couldn't wait until he could actually put weight on his foot.
Edward, Beau had already figured out, was a complete and utter gentleman. He opened doors, he slid out seats, he let Beau go first, he said please and thank you, tipped generously, was exceedingly polite to his elders, and Beau bet with all his heart that young children would love Edward, the complete pushover that he was.
Edward grabbed his other crutch and handed it to him before picking up their trash and the bucket of almost-finished popcorn and moving aside so Beau could exit the aisle in front of him, just proving Beau's point. Beau couldn't help but shake his head fondly, graciously waiting at the threshold of the theatre, because Edward insisted on holding the door for everyone in the building, plus Greg the maintenance man.
It was all very heartwarming.
Beau pounded on his chest to make sure it wasn't indigestion. Nope, those were butterflies, yep, got it.
They dragged their feet as they headed into the parking lot, discussing the major plot points and failings of the movie as they left, and basically just agreed that it was utter shit.
"God, I haven't seen a pic as bad as that in ages." Beau tilted his head back, eyes squinting at the blinding haze. "It was like every bad Mission Impossible movie I've ever seen smushed together with flashy visuals and some mediocre CGI."
Edward made that humming noise that meant he'd completely lost all understanding of the current conversation.
"Mission Impossible?" Beau probed futilely. "Big explosions, car chases, creeping in vents, really sexy Tom Cruise?"
Edward shook his head, smiling that hopeless smile that made the bottom of Beau's stomach go 'whoosh'.
Beau couldn't help the incredulous expression on his face, he just couldn't. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Ed?"
Said Ed raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He swerved to avoid what could've been a week-old hamburger or a squashed rodent sitting out on the pavement. "How so?"
"I... I don't know how to explain it." Beau tapped his crutch along the asphalt in thought. "You don't read books from the 21st century, you don't like movies, you've never heard of musicians a hermit would know about. Do you not have TV? Do you not have internet?"
"Some people just aren't pop-culture savvy, Beau, it's not that strange." They'd reached Ed's Volvo, the doors easily unlocking with a flash of silvery keys.
"But it's not just that, now, is it?" The car smelled inexplicably like flowers for some reason as Beau climbed into the passenger seat, making a face at Edward whenever he tried to help him do something an infant could accomplish.
As Edward popped open the driver's door and started up the engine, Beau couldn't help but ask, "Didn't your Dad ever share with you the things he liked as a kid?" He propped up his chin with his hand, leaning on the little semi-table that separated them. "Movies he liked as a teenager, or music he found as an adult?"
Ed shrugged, eyes fixed on the road as he made a tight turn out of the parking lot. "Me and Carlisle... we're close, but we're not that close. I came into his house pretty mature for a teenager and I didn't so much get a father as I got a guardian."
Beau tilted his head. It felt like a touchy subject, but Beau had been known to push down hard on pressure points he probably should've left alone. "When did he adopt you?"
"I was thirteen," Edward said automatically. "We used to live in San Francisco, before everything happened."
Beau tilted his head, silently saying 'go on'.
Edward smiled, not in pain. "My mom—her name was Sarah. We didn't really have any family. There was a cousin in Georgia, I think, but that was about it, unless we started looking in England. Then I got sick. I don't remember most of it, to be honest; it was a bad strain of the flu, God knows how I got it, and I was feverish for at least two weeks before we went to the hospital. We were poor; no healthcare, so it was only when my mother started fading that this old lady in our apartment building called for an ambulance. Carlisle was our doctor. It was too late for my mom." Edward slowed the car as he came across a red light.
"That's... That's horrible." Beau didn't know what else to say.
Edward shrugged. "I wasn't there when she died. I was asleep. Carlisle said she begged him to take me. Esme always wanted kids." He tapped his fingers against the wheel. "I know what they say about her in school—wondering whether or not she's barren, can't have kids or not."
Beau frowned, indignation making his blood heat. "Why should they even care? It's none of their business."
"I don't know; it's stupid." Edward shook his head. "Anyways, Esme just had a heart of gold about the whole thing, so Carlisle agreed and before the funeral, they sat me down and asked me. There was a lot of paperwork, some social workers came by to speak with me about things, and, I don't know, here I am. Edward Cullen. It used to be Masen, but things change." He turned the wheel.
"Edward Masen." Beau shook his head. It didn't taste right. "Cullen sounds more you."
Edward smiled, wryly. "Does it?"
Beau grinned, tracing Edward's profile very carefully, unabashed now that Ed wasn't looking. "Yeah, it does. With your first name? It's cool; old-fashioned, very European. You don't find many people with that name anymore." He rolled down the window as he talked, letting fresh air rush into the car, washing over his too-warm skin. "Like, it's always Eddy and Ed and Teddy and stuff like that, but never Edward."
Said Edward took another right. By now, they weren't so much on a road as they were on a nearly overgrown dirt path heading into the tangled up trees nestled near the edge of town. The car hummed prettily, gliding over pavement. They didn't talk for a while, the silence soft and comfortable, but it wasn't long before Beau started fidgeting with his seatbelt for lack of anything to do. He fiddled gently with the radio just to fill the quiet with something. He skipped around for a bit before settling on a station crooning an old murder ballad, lowering the volume so much that he had to strain his ears to hear the sickly-sweet lyrics.
"Did you ever have any nicknames or anything when you were small?" Beau asked suddenly, staring as the light considerably darkened around them once they entered more tree-cover. Rain started drizzling, wetting the car windows, slushing away the last of the dirty-snow cover piled up near the edges of the road.
Edward shrugged, tilting his head. "Not really. My mom always called me by my name, my teachers followed suit. Carlisle and Esme aren't really nickname people." He paused. "Alice calls Jasper 'Jay' sometimes, when she's really pleased with him for something or another."
Beau made a vaguely interested noise. "I had a friend named Teddy." Beau rolled his head back on his neck. "His real name was Edwin. Nice guy; big guy, though, always hated having to look up at him all the time."
"Was this 'Edwin' one of your many boyfriends back in Arizona?" Edward grinned at him, mischievous to the core, and Beau laughed raucously, big laughs that made his shoulders shake a little.
"Boyfriend? That's rich." He crossed his legs underneath him. "Closest thing to a boyfriend I ever got was this guy in my sixth grade class who tried to knock my teeth out near the baseball hut. Two weeks later, he grabbed me and pulled me behind a tree in the park; he was leaning in for a kiss."
"What'd you do?"
"I broke his nose, what do you think I did?" Beau snorted, fiddling with the spare change he had in his pockets, listening to the clink of metal muffled by his jeans. "No way was I letting that bastard take my first kiss. He was a jerk, not to mention he wasn't all that cute either."
Edward eyed him, a glint in his eye that Beau wasn't sure about. "Your first kiss? Haven't lost it yet?"
"Haven't really liked anybody enough to give it to them." He pulled out a quarter, swiping his thumb over George Washington's little profile. "Thought about planting one on my friend, Marisa, just to get it over with, but then I stopped caring. Dunno, it doesn't really matter all that much."
Ed paused, thinking. "...I guess not."
...
The rest of the drive was mostly silent, them just thinking to themselves before they pulled into the driveway, and Beau felt really entitled in his gawking as they came up to the house. If it could be called a house. 'House' seemed like an understatement.
It was all sleek angles and glass, steep stairs leading up to the carved door, a mass of tall, sloping windows and modern, rich-looking balconies and arched metal doorways. When Edward turned the key in the lock and stepped to the side to let Beau in first, he couldn't really process just how much work must've been put into this obviously very expensive, very detailed living space.
It was warm, was his first impression. The lighting was bright and vibrant, washing over all the elements brilliantly, the walls pretty cream, the trimmings stark black in contrast.
"It's very..." Beau paused, listening to the way his voice echoed in the spacious foyer, looking up, up, up at the high ceilings and blinking at the generous skylight. "Nice."
Edward snorted. "Yes. Very." His tone was wry. "Esme and Carlisle don't settle for anything but the very best."
Beau tilted his head, trying to compare all the gleaming colors and rather interesting curves and cuts to his rather plain home with his dad. The outdated kitchen with peeling cupboards, the worn looking couch sagging in front of an older TV, an obviously well-used stereo sitting on the counter next to the stove. Comparing that to Edward's home, with all its metallic mantels, granite counter-tops, and custom made furniture... Well, Beau just couldn't get it to stick in his mind.
"So, do you want the grand tour, or...?" Edward seemed oddly out of his element, in his own home, taking off his jacket and shoes in the doorway, eyeing Beau staring at it all. He reached for Beau's coat and sneakers awkwardly. Beau had the strangest idea that the Cullens weren't used to having guests over for dinner.
Beau didn't say anything for a moment, in thought, before glancing at Edward. "Show me the important places first."
Edward looked surprised for a moment, before smiling. "That won't take too long, I don't think."
He dragged him along (as well as he could, considering Beau's crutches), whisking him up and around a circling staircase near the back of the entry-room. Beau got a bare glimpse of a glittering five-star kitchen that made his mouth salivate and a quaint family room with a stretch couch and a sleek fifty inch flat-screen. Then they were going up more steps that led to the second level.
It was the piano placed strategically next to an all-windows wall that made Beau pause in his tracks.
It was beautiful. Grand and black, paint gleaming on smooth wood. It looked well-used. Bunches of crumpled up sheet music were scattered across the back of the piano, pens and pencils held in a clean coffee mug near the keyboard, and scraps of half-written songs on printer paper were floating around on the floor.
"Sorry about the mess," said Edward unapologetically. He never felt bad about leaving messes. Beau found it ridiculously endearing—sometimes, when Beau looked at perfect Edward Cullen, with his fashionable clothing and dark, brooding looks and breathless intelligence, he forgot that Ed was actually a human being. Somebody who lived and breathed and had flaws and made mistakes and had feelings that went deeper than just getting perfect scores on Biology quizzes.
After everything Ed had done for him, Beau knew better now.
"This was all you, wasn't it?" Beau raised an eyebrow at all of the organized chaos, bending down to pick up a stray highlighter. It was violently pink, and Beau twirled it between his fingers as he spoke.
"Mostly me," Edward admitted. "You might find one of Alice's mascara tubes down there." A brief look of agitation crossed his face. "I've told her a million times to do her makeup in the bathroom."
Beau laughed, placing the highlighter into the utensil cup. "You two are such siblings. It's so cute."
Ed made a face. "She can be so annoying sometimes." He sat down at the piano bench, feet already bumping down on the pedals instinctively, fingers trailing over the keys, but not playing. Beau watched for a second. He'd never really thought of Edward as a musician, if only because he never knew that Ed could play anything, let alone the piano.
He looked at home now; shoulders completely relaxed for the first time Beau had ever met him.
"So," Beau drawled out, leaning against the piano softly. He gently rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood. "This is all yours?"
Ed looked down at his own fingers. "For the most part. My family's not exactly musically inclined; the most Emmett can play is 'Chopsticks'. Very badly, but he can manage." He glanced out the window, distant horror in his eyes. "I tried teaching Alice once. Never again."
Beau grinned. "What, you're telling me it didn't go swimmingly?"
Edward made a face. "You're cruel." He sighed, pushing his thick hair away from his forehead. "She's a wonderful sister, but she really doesn't know how to listen when I tell her to do something."
Beau's smile showed teeth. "She sounds like every sister I've ever heard of."
"Basically." Ed's fingers plucked out a deep, tenor scale, ascending into soprano tones. "May I play you something?"
Beau waved him off. "You don't have to, you—"
"I want to." Ed was brightly earnest, scooting down on the bench to make room for Beau. "Come on, sit, let me show you something."
Beau didn't try protesting, perching next to him, and placing his crutches down on the floor, sighing. "I swear to God, Cullen, if you try and make me sing, they'll never find the body..."
Ed smiled.
It was a simple song. There was no flashy pounding of the keyboard or bluesy runs that Beau had come to associate with the piano. But, even without all that, it was beautiful. The notes were smooth and silvery and scaling, and familiar to Beau somehow, accompanied by thick, heavy chords that layered and moved slow, like molasses. His breath caught.
Edward was humming something underneath his breath, soft and quiet in his throat and Beau strained to hear it, eyes fluttering. There was an itch in the back of his mind. Beau had heard this song sung before; there were lyrics to it, he was sure, it was on the tip of his tongue, but just out of reach. It was infuriating.
He was nearing the bridge, more mournful now, the notes slow and lingering and thoughtful and Beau just wanted it to go on forever. Was that strange, that he wanted to stay in this moment, the coolness and weight of Edward next to him, his fingers playing a song Beau knew but didn't, a thick drizzle jeweling the windows with water?
The song was fading now, ending, and Beau's fists clenched at the bench as the last note rang out, receding.
There was a little pause after, where they both just breathed, quiet.
"What was the name of that?" Beau couldn't stop himself from asking, tentatively touching one of the keys that Edward had kept coming back to when playing.
"I Can't Help Falling In Love With You." Ed shrugged. "It's an old Elvis song."
"I know it." He hadn't expected to, but he did, the name coming back to him almost violently. "Everyone knows that song. It's beautiful. A classic."
Beau recalled distantly a Christmas in his grandmother's old shack near the cliffs, back when his grandfather was still alive. Beau had only been a little thing, his hair a thick puff of curls on his head, his glasses taped together, broken from a scuffle on the playground, matching the scraped up skin of his knees. The dusty old record player in the old parlor with the flower wallpaper had been on, clear and smooth. Elvis, voice thick and crooning, had filtered throughout the house, sinking into every nook and cranny and burrowing there, like it belonged, like it was home. The music had filled the kitchen, bright and dazzling, where his grandma had just pulled out a pan of gingerbread cookies, the smells tickling Beau's nose and making his mouth water. Beau remembered his grandma laughing as his grandfather tugged playfully at her apron (a ratty thing with purple penguins on the hem) until she consented to dance with him.
"Want to finish our tour then?" Edward's voice was loud in the quiet of the makeshift piano-room.
Beau shook himself out of the memory, a curl falling behind his glasses and smiled at Edward. "Sure."
Edward scooted sideways off the bench and held out his hand to help Beau up. It was becoming a habit of his, Beau noticed. Taking my hand. He forced himself not to read into it—the last thing he needed was encouragement—and accepted Edward's offer of help with what he hoped looked like absentminded friendliness and not desperation. Edward's hand was cold, like he'd been holding ice for a bit, but had toweled his fingers dry. Beau found he didn't mind too much.
He desperately hoped his palm wasn't sweaty.
Edward's hand dropped away to his side once Beau was on his feet and Beau tried very hard not to show his disappointment.
Edward didn't seem to notice anything wrong; either he was ignoring the sudden shyness in Beau's demeanor or he was taking pity on him. He handed Beau his crutches and went up the rest of the stairs, Beau following closely behind as they twined up and around, holding the rails carefully as he limped slowly upwards. The next floor was had paneled wood underfoot and the ceiling wasn't as high as it was downstairs, but it still was very impressively decorated. The rooms Beau got to peek into were deep and caverned and filled with pointy furniture Beau knew couldn't be comfortable.
"This is my room," said Edward as he swept open a door grandly, like he was a butler presenting a new princess to the royal court. Beau poked his stomach playfully as he passed, and winced when he stubbed his index finger against (weirdly) stony muscle. He shook out the pain discreetly, glancing around.
Surprisingly, Edward's bedroom was clean. And beautiful, Beau noted. There was a huge built-in unit covering an entire wall, its shelves and edges silver. It was for holding what looked like hundreds upon hundreds of CDs and vinyls (really, Edward? No iPod?). There was a hollowed out center where a big screen television was supposed to go, but was absent; instead, a fat, glittery sound-system holding the place of honor. There were cleverly placed shelves with sleek edges holding big books and pretty trinkets Beau couldn't have guessed the purpose of.
Opposite the built-in was a great big wall of glass, allowing Edward to look out onto the rolling forest with its great big oaks and hemlocks and various shrubs. A silk-screen tablet with a matching laptop and top of the line headphones sat on a pristine white desk in the corner, pens and papers in a neatish pile on the side.
There was no bed, Beau noticed suddenly, bewildered. Only a pretty couch colored a bright white that matched the desk. It looked comfortable, but too leathery to sleep on and there were a bunch of school papers and books spilled onto its seating, the type of disarray that Beau had expected, if a bit smaller.
"Where's the mess?" he asked, without thinking, and was rewarded with Edward laughing.
"Esme makes me clean it every week." It didn't sound like a complaint and his smile was alarmingly wide. "You caught me on a good day."
"And the bed?" Beau met Edward's gaze, which shot to the couch.
"It's a pull-out cot." The other boy gestured to the messy sofa. "Maximizes space."
Beau squinted at him. "I guess," he said dubiously. "Is it comfortable?"
Edward grinned—he looked like a shark, his teeth white and clean and uncomfortably sharp. "Oh yeah," he said, still smiling weirdly. "I sleep like the dead on that thing."
Beau chewed on his too-long thumbnail as he sat on the sofa—there were no armrests, oddly enough, probably for aesthetic more than anything else, so he put his hands in his lap and tried not to look uncomfortable. Edward was fiddling with the speakers on the built in, his fingers running through the music disks like they were pages of a book.
Beau watched as he slipped one of his many, many CDs into the player. Soon, music bubbled out of the speakers, smooth piano notes tinkling innocuously into the room.
Beau tilted his head—he didn't recognize this one, but it was pretty and sad and smooth, no words, and Beau's shoulders relaxed. It scaled, filling him up with that same unmentionable emotion he had felt when Edward had played for him. Edward wasn't looking at him, hovering quietly near the windows.
Beau paused. "Do you like this kind of music, then?" It sounded stupid when he said it—Edward had put on this song, after all, how could he not like it—but Ed wasn't swaying or tapping his foot and his expression was very neutral.
Fingers skittering over the CD cover, Ed shrugged. "I don't mind this one, but to be honest, classical music's kind of boring to me. This one's pretty, which is why I bought it, but I like actual words in my songs."
Beau frowned. "So what do you like?"
"Something with a melody I can hum along to," Ed shrugged. "I'm partial to the greats—Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong... Elvis." He smiled a little. "But I'm not very picky. If I like something, I buy it."
"And that's another thing," Beau said, propping his chin in his hand, blinking slow and thoughtful at him. "You buy music. Who buys music anymore? Everybody now just downloads it from the internet if they like something on YouTube. You spend money on music."
Edward scowled viciously, leaning against his wall of music, ankles crossed at the floor. His arms crossed, defensive. "I hate it when people do that. Music has value, too, like a painting on a wall or a book on a shelf."
"Some people would argue that," Beau said, amused to see cool-headed Edward all fired up about something.
Ed snorted. "Just because something's easy to do doesn't mean I have to." He sighed. "I just like supporting the artist." He became quiet again, looking out the wall of glass, eyes losing their sharpness. The song was nearly over, slowing down in its last notes.
Beau got restless, fidgeting in the silence, side-eying him before standing up, more for something to do than anything else. He leaned against his crutch, approached the wall, still far from Edward, who was near a door in the corner which Beau assumed was his closet. The cases of the CDs were cold and plastic-y under his curious fingertips.
He moved over to the shelf furthest from the hallway door, racking the fingers of his right hand over the spines of Edward's vinyls, still in their covers from when they were purchased, splashes of color against the white of the built-in. He glanced up—the top shelf held not vinyls, nor CDs, but binders and large books, messy pages sticking out of their tops, the edges cracked from overuse.
"What are those?" Beau went on the tips of his toes, the point of his crutch digging into the floor, straining to see and Edward chuckled.
"You're so short," he said.
"Whoa, rude," Beau reared back, glaring as he pushed up his glasses, smudging the lenses a little. Edward's smug profile looked foggy before he cleaned them viciously with the corner of his shirt. "Maybe I'm not short. Maybe you're just freakishly tall."
"Sure," Edward stepped closer. "And that's my other music collection-sheet music, for piano mostly."
"'Mostly?'" Beau asked. "Don't tell me you play some other instruments too."
"No, but some of the songs have accompaniments, like cello or bass or guitar." Edward reached up without straining, pulling a binder down with ease, which made Beau glare all the harder. It was a faded green thing, with bright blue Sharpie swirling out "Dvorák".
Beau glanced it over. "Doo-vor-rak," he sounded out, badly, incorrectly. "Sounds like a douche."
There was a roar of laughter from Edward. "Yeah, a bit." He slid out one of the papers. "He did Slavonic Dances, if you know what that is."
Beau raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "No, Edward, I don't; please, enlighten me."
"Trust me, you don't want to know," he laughed. "They're really long and boring and they have all of these parts..." He shook his head. "I hated them with a passion. But that's all my mom would listen to on the radio, so. You know." He put the binder down on his desk, which was still littered with assignments from school.
"Was she the one to teach you piano?" Beau asked, tentatively.
"No, we couldn't afford one. I learned in school." Edward looked nostalgic. "When Carlisle took me in, he got me a teacher."
"Oh, was he good?"
"Yeah, but he was also really strict and had a ruler he used to smack us with when we weren't fast enough in picking up the key-changes." Edward laughed, rubbing his knuckle over the bump of his lower lip in memory.
"That doesn't sound fun." Beau perched carefully on the desk, glancing at the silver-ball pendulum he had perched on a textbook. He poked one of them, watching the ripple effect of the group swinging back and forth, back and forth.
A hand stopped its arching movement. Beau glanced up to see that Edward was a lot closer now. "No," he admitted. "It wasn't."
"Was it worth it?" Beau had a bad habit of asking intrusive questions.
Edward shrugged. "Dunno." He had a queer expression on his face.
Beau opened his mouth to say something-he didn't know what-when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out, smiling apologetically, and glanced at the screen, which was lit up with a text from Angela.
Did you skip school? havent seen you all day. You ok?
"Who is it?"
Beau glanced up, teeth denting his bottom lip. "Angela. She wants to know where I am."
"Tell her you're with me," Edward advised. "She shouldn't worry."
Quietly, Beau thought that if he told her about being with Edward in his house, in his bedroom, after having spent the entire day playing hooky with him, that Angela would worry, but for all the wrong reasons.
Still, he typed out a quick response, wrinkling his nose.
Yeah, I'm fine. At Edward's.
He had to wait a few minutes for her response.
!
He laughed and sent back a text.
?
Her response came a second later.
are you guys dating? do I have to call the police? by police, I mean yr dad?
He rolled his eyes.
Ang, we've talked about this. Just because I'm a very homosexual guy doesn't mean that I can't have platonic relationships with people who happen to be male.
Idk man Cullen doesnt seem very straight to me. He mite have the hots fr u
Beau snorted to himself, jumping when Edward asked, "What are you two talking about?"
"Your sexual orientation," Beau said casually and hid his smile when Edward fumbled a vinyl.
Edward stayed very still for a moment, just looking at the cover in his hands, before saying, very quietly, "I thought Angela was supposed to be the good one."
"You obviously don't know her very well, do you?" Beau joked. His phone was still vibrating in his hands and after winking at a shell-shocked Edward, he glanced back down. While they'd been talking, Angela had sent him a flurry of texts, becoming more and more outrageous as they went.
Boo?
Answer me
Are you 2 making out?
u better use a condom
Beau wrinkled his nose delicately.
I don't put out on the first date, mom, calm down.
His phone beeped again.
SO U ARE ON A DATE. I KNEW IT.
Beau dropped his head on Edward's desk in his frustration, cheeks burning red.
Edward glanced over in feigned concern, mildly amused. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just questioning my life choices," Beau muttered, more to himself than Edward, but Edward still laughed.
Stop shipping me in real life, you creep. I was joking. How's everybody holding up over there.
Angela's response took longer to come this time and Beau was beginning to flip through Edward's marked up copy of Girl, Interrupted, in boredom when the screen finally lighted with a message. He swiped his thumb to open it and felt a furrow forming on his brow as he stared down at the words he wished he hadn't seen.
School's just let out. Jess is still bein weird. im kinda glad you didnt come today. Miller got arrested in the parking lot after last bell.
Beau sighed, running a hand through his hair, unsure as to how to respond.
Edward stilled across the room, head tilted. "What's wrong?"
Somewhere in the distance, a morning dove cooed loudly. Beau made a face. "Miller's been arrested."
Edward didn't say anything, only moved a little closer. Beau only just realized that there wasn't a mirror anywhere in the bedroom-maybe Ed had one of those full-body ones in his closet, which was probably a walk-in one, with what all the space in his house.
"Are you okay?" Ed asked slowly, and Beau really didn't know how to answer that question.
"Dunno," he said honestly. "I'm a little numb."
Edward's hand was deliciously cool against the slightly damp skin of Beau's forehead. "You feel warm," he murmured softly and Beau sighed.
"That's just because you're freezing. All the time," Beau said as he slipped away. "I should text Jacob. Tell him not to pick me up."
"I'll drive you home, don't worry about it," Edward said, anticipating Beau's question.
Beau sent off the text and turned to back to Edward, who had moved away to gaze at the hazy sky outside. "Who taught you to drive?"
"Huh? Why?"
"Because whoever it was should have their license revoked. You drive like you've got the devil in you."
"Hahaha. Very funny." The sarcasm dripped good-naturedly from Edward's lips. "You can blame Carlisle for that one. However, I think that most of it is just me. I'm a very impatient person."
Somehow that statement struck Beau as entirely untrue. Edward was one of the most patient people Beau had ever met. He was assaulted by images of Edward slowing his pace to match Beau's crutch-hampered speed, Edward holding the door open for strangers at the cinema, Edward good-humoredly putting up with Beau's friends' antics at the lunch table, etc.
"I don't think that's true."
Before Edward could respond, the slam of a car door signified the arrival of the rest of the Cullens.
Edward glanced at Beau, mouth a very thin line above the handsome jut of his chin. "They'll be annoyed at me. Maybe we should get going."
To Beau, Edward seemed slightly embarrassed, and a bit agitated, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was glancing around, as if uncomfortable.
"Alright," Beau said cautiously. "Lead on, I guess."
They cut through to the back of the house, Edward's shoulders stiff as he opened the door to the backyard's garage. Beau didn't have time to whistle appreciatively at the vintage cars and bikes that filled the space, but he did it internally as Edward hunted down the keys to a berry red Maserati. Ever the gentleman, Ed opened the side door for him and Beau slid inside, admiring the sleek interior as he rearranged his crutches across his lap.
The engine revved and Ed hit the gas and valiantly ignored Beau closing his eyes in mild terror.
...
They pulled up in front of Beau's house, the car as smooth as satin, even over pot-holed road. Once again Beau wondered what overpriced romantic comedy he'd been written into.
"Well," Edward started as the car stopped. "I guess you should get inside."
Beau nodded, fingers tapping against the metal rung of his crutch. "Yeah." He looked out the window, at the ceiling, at his hands, before his eyes landed back on Edward. "You know, when I woke up this morning and I had to figure out a way to shower with cellophane wrapped around my foot, I was pretty sure my shitty mood was going to last the entire day."
Ed didn't respond, only waited.
"But it didn't because-" Beau paused and cleared his throat. "Well, you're pretty much the reason as to why I haven't had a nervous breakdown or something, so thanks. I really appreciate it." What he appreciated exactly, he couldn't be sure, but it pretty much encompassed everything he'd been feeling towards Edward the entire day.
"You're very welcome," Edward said sincerely. "And I hope you know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can come to me for help."
Beau grinned. "You're a good friend, Edward." He didn't let himself overthink it before he was pulling Edward into a proper hug.
Edward was cool and smelled like icy dinner mints that people packaged and ate around the holidays. If Beau could bottle it up and sell it as a cologne, than he would be a billionaire.
(Then again, it probably was his cologne, so).
Edward eventually hugged back, his arms tight and muscly around Beau's skinny shoulders and Beau sighed as he burrowed his nose into the warm cashmere of Edward's sweater.
He disengaged eventually, after the hug grew too comfortable and Beau feared he'd never want to leave.
But not before he stole Ed's phone number and programmed his own into Edward's silky-screened, top-of-the-line mobile.
"I'll text you later," Beau insisted as he leaned on his crutch, one foot on the curve of the sidewalk, the other on the street.
"Not if I text you first," Edward murmured, smile altogether too smug around the edges.
"Don't be a dick, Ed," Beau said as the other teen started the car and began pulling away, dreadfully slow for someone who drove like he was trying to race the Flash.
"I try not to be," Ed quipped before breaking the sound barrier. Beau watched until the car made a turn a few blocks down, until he couldn't see the fruit-punch-red anymore.
Charlie's old cruiser was in the driveway, sitting innocuously next to Beau's Baby Jean. Beau knew he must've gotten home early, a voice-mail no doubt sitting on his phone from the school about how Beau hadn't shown up to first period Trig.
He dreaded the conversation to follow, but put on a brave face and was about to shove his key into the lock when the door swung open, squeaking loudly on unoiled hinges.
"You and I have a lot to talk about, son."
Charlie had a very good 'I'm-disappointed-in-you' face, Beau would give him that.
He sat down at the kitchen counter uncomfortably, his crutches shoved underneath his feet, fingers tangling together uncomfortably. Charlie was raking his hands through his thinning curls, eyes screwed up in frustration as he gathered his words.
"Dad-" Beau began to say.
"No," Charlie interrupted. "No, Beau, you don't get to talk. You don't get to-to do this, alright?" He made an all-encompassing gesture, nearly hitting his hand on the pan rack. "I'm your father, Beau. I know it doesn't seem like it-God knows you do most of the cooking around here, anyways-but it's true. You didn't just get dropped on your mother's doorstep by some-some heron-"
"Stork," Beau grunted.
Charlie glared. "My point is, I never intended to-to neglect you, Beau. I didn't want to be that kind of father. And I sure as hell don't intend to start doing so now."
"Dad," Beau said, aghast.
"You know it's true," Charlie spat, glaring at some point over Beau's shoulder. "After the divorce." He stopped. "After your mother and I separated, I didn't know what was gonna happen. She got custody, I got visitation rights, but she moved half-way across the country, Beau. What were visitation rights gonna do when I couldn't afford a fucking plane ticket? I got a Christmas card, if I got lucky. You sent me letters and drew me pictures, but they were... They weren't enough." To Beau's horror, tears were making Charlie's eyes go red. "They weren't... they weren't enough."
Beau stood up, ignoring the sharp protest of his foot, and grabbed Charlie in a hug.
"I-"
"Shut up," Beau said severely. "Just... stop talking."
Charlie was soft around the middle, big muscles melting into a bit of pudge with age, and he was real good for hugging. Metal and sharp-smelling aftershave filled Beau's nose. Charlie hugged back, but firmer, realer, than anything before. Beau dropped his head onto Charlie's chest and maybe that helped quell the tears, because when Charlie spoke his words were steady.
"You can't do that, Beau," he murmured, breath ruffling the tops of his curls. "You just can't. If something happened to you, your mother would skin me. Even if you skip school, you have to call or text or, I dunno, smoke signal me-"
Beau laughed, harsh and broken, in his throat. "Yeah, yeah. Okay." He meant it, too. It had been bad form; he didn't regret skipping, but he could've at least warned Charlie, told him he was staying home, faked a cough, complained about his foot, something other than disappearing, never to be heard from again.
"What happened?" Charlie asked after a little while, still holding his son, swaying a bit. Beau thought they'd be hugging it out a lot more often now.
Beau shrugged. "Miller was in school today."
Charlie stilled, entire body going stiff with tightly controlled anger. Finally, "I heard." There was a huff. "I guess it was better if you weren't there. We've had enough drama in the precinct as it is."
This was news to Beau. "Oh?"
"Yeah." Charlie's arms fell away and Beau stepped back, looking up at the tired face of his father. "I can't tell you how many times my lieutenants have offered their shotguns in support."
Beau laughed. "That's nice to hear." He blinked as his phone jingled in his pocket, but he ignored the sound and sat down, remembering with a wince that he had a sprained ankle.
"You gonna get that?" Charlie jerked his head.
Beau shook his head, smiling. "It can wait." He paused, tilting his head. "What do you want for dinner tonight? We have the linguine from yesterday in the fridge."
...
Later, under his bed covers, Beau lay in the dark, eyes open, staring in the emptiness. He had spent the whole day avoiding thinking too hard about anything of importance, but there, in the dark, there was no avoiding it anymore.
He was afraid.
Logically he knew there was nothing to fear. Miller couldn't touch him. If anything, it was Miller and the others who should be afraid, afraid of what would happen in the court and whether or not they would have to finish their senior year of high school from a jail cell. Yet nothing he could tell himself would stop the clenching of his stomach, cold ice freezing his insides, or the compulsion to run away, change the subject or do anything else but think about having to confront Miller again.
He felt sick. It wasn't anything he had experienced before. It was entirely irrational, and unlike himself. Beau was a lot of things, but he wasn't weak, and neither was he easily frazzled. But this was beyond him. Something he couldn't escape, no matter how many times he skipped school with Edward.
Edward seemed absolutely fine. True, he hadn't been the one beaten up, but he was equally as unfazed in as he had been during the entire ordeal. Intrepid. Beau fervently thanked whatever god had created him for the rock that was Edward, for what felt like the thousandth time. Not only had Edward saved Beau from Miller, he had saved Beau from himself by becoming his friend.
Thinking about Edward had become a diversion, just as hanging out with him earlier that day had been. Beau found himself constantly distracted, wondering about the strange luck that was his.
His phone beeped at him from the other side of the bedroom. He swung himself out of bed.
He swiped open his phone. The screen lit up, and a notification came up telling him that he had email. From the subject line he could tell it was just junk mail, but he was distracted by a symbol in the corner of his screen telling him that he had one message that he had missed earlier in the day.
From Edward:
Hello.
The Nearness of You by Nora Jones.
The Song that Edward plays on his record player for Beau is The Meadow by Alexandre Desplay (breaking the fourth wall, guys, we know, it's fun XD).