Hello everyone!

I'm really touched that you're happy that I'm back. That calls for another chapter. Here it is. Please review!

And Kristen, my Kristen… thank you oh so much!

December the 14th

Edward's point of view

Saturday starts with the ringing of my cell phone. I open my eyes and blink at my alarm clock: 10:25. I roll around in my bed, a little stiffly, and grab for the phone that lies on my nightstand. The number on the display looks slightly familiar but I'm not sure to whom it belongs. I suppress a yawn, clear my throat and push the green button. "Hello?"

"Hello pumpkin." It's Will. "Wanna go to a concert tonight?"

"What?" I don't really understand what he says since I'm still half-asleep, but it's nice to hear his voice again.

"Do you – Edward – want to go to a concert tonight – that would be the night of the 14th of December – with me – William Pratt?" His tone is more than a bit mocking.

I sit up a little bit, stuff the pillow behind my back and grin. "I need more details for a definite statement."

He sighs. "Gosh, you're complicated. Well then…" I can hear the ripple of water in the background. "I just happen to know the bouncer of the Bowery Ballroom and he gave me two tickets for the "Panic at the Disco"- show tonight at 8. And before you ask who "Panic at the Disco" is, you music illiterate: It is a rock band. Their music is a tad too sugarcoated and sleek, but they're okay and the concert's for free."

Finally, a band I know. "I know who they are and I'm not a music illiterate. I just prefer listening to real music, rather than letting my ears be ruined by archaic grunting."

He snorts. "How very posh of you. Snob! Well, now that you have the details and we've established that you even know the band, what do you say?"

I think about it for a second. It sounds like fun and I could use a little distraction. There's still the thing with Jasper, and Mary almost had a nervous breakdown yesterday when I visited her. The wedding is next Friday and she thinks that everything will go wrong and there is still so much to do and maybe she should have chosen different flowers and her in-laws are making her nuts and… and… It took me two hours to calm her down and convince her that everything will be fine. "I would really like to go with you."

"Good. Doors open at 7. Should I pick you up or should we meet there?" I can hear more rippling of water.

"We can meet there at 7. What are you doing in the background?"

"Bathing…" he purrs.

"Uh, baby." I laugh, but I have to admit that the image of him bathing is quite appealing.

"Right now I'm cleaning my feet with a soapy sponge. Uh-oh, I wish you could see how shiny and new my toes look. Since you have this strange bath fetish, this must really turn you on, doesn't it?"

I have to laugh harder. "I don't have a strange bath fetish!"

"Oh shut up! Of course you have." He imitates my drunken slur; "I love bath tubs. They are filled with hot water."

"I was drunk!" I try to sound outraged, but it doesn't work very well.

"Pha! In vino veritas, my friend. See you tonight at 7."

"See you." I hang up.

This is a nice way to start the day. I stand up and stretch, then I go over to the window and pull back the curtains. The sky is grey and frost patterns cover the window pane. Both bed rooms point to the back yard and the back yards of New York don't belong to the many beautiful spots in the city. They are grey, brown at the most, often without any plants and harbor a large sum of garbage containers. Our back yard is no exception, so I look out only briefly. I like my room better than the view.

I haven't told you about my room, have I? Okay then…

It's 182.98 square feet, formed like an L and I've painted in an ivory color. The flea markets of New York are heaven for retro freaks like me and I was lucky and got a 50s bed frame and a matching nightstand at Annex Antique Fair & Flea Market in Chelsea. The bed is made of nut-brown wood and has a head board that is two feet high, but the most important thing is that it has no foot board. I'm 6′1′′ and I hate it when my feet bump against the board when I turn around in the night. Then there is a big wooden bookshelf, the mahogany desk in front of the two windows and an ordinary white closet which doesn't go with the rest of the furniture because 'til now I haven't had enough money to buy another one. Regarding decoration I'm a minimalist. The only real piece of decoration in my room is a framed poster of James Dean above my bed. It's a monochromatic shot by Roy Schatt and my favorite picture of James. He's looking sideways, wearing a simple black pullover, and has dark circles around his eyes, which make him appear tired and weary. He looks sad. I like this picture because it transports all these emotions effortlessly.

I go over to the stereo that sits on the bookshelf and turn on the radio. It's tuned in on a New York City radio station that plays mostly music of the 50s, 60s and 70s – and at the moment "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison. A nice, fun, non-archaic song. Humming along with the tune, I go over to my closet to choose my clothes for the day. I'm in the mood for jeans and t-shirt, but considering the bad weather conditions outside I add a grey hoodie to the outfit. I clamp the clothes under my arm, also pick a fresh pair of boxers from the bottom drawer of my closet and then I pause for a moment to sing. "Do you remember when we used to sing/ Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da." Yeah I know, not the most complex lyrics of all time, but right now, it's nice to partake in something so simple. I dance around a little, probably looking completely stupid dressed only in blue boxer shorts and with a bunch of clothes under my arm, but at the moment I don't care – even if the neighbors from the other side of the back yard can see me.

Finally I leave my room to take a shower. Jasper is nowhere to be seen and I can't hear anything from his room. Seems like I can take my time in the bath. I take a long shower, shave (I use a straight razor which my grandpa gave to me) and get my hair under control.

When I return to the living room, Jasper is sitting on the window sill, looking outside, smoking a cigarette. When I look at him today, the pain of my longing is missing and I am just happy to see him. Guess my mood is just too good. He turns to me, holding the cigarette out of the open window – even the cold in the room fails to bother me –, and smiles his incredible smile, his grass-green eyes sparkling.

"Mornin', Edward. I've made pancakes." He nods towards the laid table and a plate of steaming pancakes.

"Mr. Whitlock, I'm shocked. Have you gone all domestic?" Cooking isn't really his forte, I think he doesn't even like to do it. I go over to the table and sit down.

He puts his cigarette out, closes the window and grins. "Maybe a little. I had to actually, because you were in the shower and I couldn't ask you to make some." He winks at me, picks up two pancakes with a fork and puts them on my plate. "How's your sister?"

"Thanks for the pancakes." I fill my cup with coffee. "Mary's a nervous wreck. She thinks that the wedding will be a disaster, that everything that could go wrong, will go wrong." I make a face and sip at my coffee. "Normally she's totally calm and composed, but now she's agitated and every time I see her she looks like she's about to cry. I really don't understand why anyone would put themselves through this stress for one damn day. Yesterday, I almost told her to grab Simon, fly to Vegas and have a drive-through wedding. No stress, no annoying relatives and 57°. Of course she would have bitten my head off if I had said that." I take a bite of pancake.

He grins, showing all his teeth. "Vegas? Drive-through wedding? Marriage is a serious and romantic occasion to most people. 'Til death do us part, you know? Ya certainly don't get points for empathy."

I swallow the piece of pancake, which tastes great by the way – I think he has put cinnamon and some other more exotic spices in the batter. "I too think it's a serious occasion, but I don't think it does the occasion any justice to make such a big fuss about it. I don't want to sound cheesy, but it should be all about the love, and there is just too much money and too many expectations involved."

Jasper pulls one of his bare feet on the seat and wraps one arm around his leg. "Yeah, I agree, maybe the big hoopla poses too much of a distraction, but Vegas? Come on! And ya can't tell me that you're not looking a bit forward to the wedding."

I grin. "Okay, you win!" I take another bite. He's right, I'm a little bit excited about the wedding. At least about the part where Mary and Simon vow to love each other as long as they live. It's almost embarrassing how sentimental and emotional I can be. But not exactly surprising considering my current misery. By now I think my problem is that I can only balance the logical, mathematical, reserved side and the affective, romantic side of my personality by using booze. I hit myself over the head internally for that. Even though this conclusion is not really a pleasant one, I refuse to let my great mood be ruined by it. So I concentrate my focus on Jasper again – far away from my urge to ponder.

He spears a piece pf pancake with his fork. "So, where are they getting married?"

"Since they're both as atheistic as I am, they're having a civil marriage ceremony which will be held by a retired judge Mary became friends with at law school. Both the ceremony and the reception will be at the Central Park Boathouse."

"That sounds nice. They can take some great pictures at the Lake."

"If the weather cooperates," I add with feigned grimness.

He chuckles. "Of course. Let's just hope that the mean snow and cold won't kill each and every one of ya." He fishes for another piece of pancake with his fork, his chin resting on his erect knee. "When are your mom and dad coming?"

"On Wednesday. They stay 'til Saturday at my sister's."

He nods and we fall silent for a while, drinking coffee and eating pancakes. A small beam of sunlight manages to pierce through the clouds and lights our living room for one moment. The snow in the treetops in front of our windows starts to sparkle. I'm watching the spectacle for a moment, then I look at Jasper and notice the pensive expression on his face. He's staring down at his plate and is shuffling the remaining pieces of pancake absentmindedly around with his fork.

"Ya like the pancakes?" he asks out of the blue.

I'm not sure why, but it feels like he has a more serious reason for asking this question than you would expect. So I think that a simple answer like "yes" won't do. "They're delicious. I like all the spices you've put in the batter, especially the cinnamon."

"It's my mom's recipe," he says slowly without looking at me.

It's the first time ever he mentions his mom and I want him to go on talking about her – curiosity is just a minor reason why I want him to. But I'm afraid he won't continue if I push him, so I just nod.

"She died when I was ten." He sounds forlorn and determined at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "How did she die?"

Finally he looks at me, but his grass-green eyes aren't sparkling at the moment. "Breast cancer." He unfolds his body, stands up and asks, pointing at the table, "Are ya finished eating?" I nod again and he starts clearing the table. Seems like Jasper's moment of self-disclose is over. I'm not sure where it came from, but I'm happy that he opened up a little bit to me.

…

I've taken the subway to go to the Bowery Ballroom. I could have used my bike, but I don't think there will be an opportunity to secure it inside a building. Furthermore it's likely that I want to unite the two sides of my personality again tonight and that means that I won't be able to ride my bike home safely. I get off the subway at Grand Street and saunter down Chrystie Street, past shops with both English and Chinese signs, heading for Delancey Street. The weather is okay. It's still damn cold, but at least it's not snowing.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise when I turn onto Delancey Street. There is a huge crowd of people in front of the venue – and apparently "Panic at the Disco" has a lot of female fans. I cross the street and approach the club, examining the crowd with some interest. The people wear rather unusual, fancy, kind of gothic looking clothes, what goes with the style and music of the band I guess – I've never seen them live or listened that closely to their music. Finally I spot Will and I have to grin. He's leaning against a shop window of an adjacent aquarium store, dressed completely in black, and obviously he tries to distance himself from the other fans by looking like a grumpy, yet cool undertaker.

I go over to him. "Hey! So… you like to listen to girly music?"

His steel blue eyes pierce me and he growls, "Their music is not that girly. It's all because of that eye candy of a lead singer."

I knit a brow. "Aha…"

"Shut up, you snobby asshole." He pushes himself off the wall and lingers through the crowd over to the entrance. "You coming or what?"

I chuckle and follow him.

We make it to the main room, buy two Heineken at the bar and try to get as close to the stage as possible. There is a simple, 100 percent functioning rule if you want to stand in the first row: Don't approach the stage from the front, just try the sides. Most people seem to forget that there is an alternative to the center directly in front of the stage. Using this knowledge we get a good place in the front row.

Will takes off his black, ankle-length leather coat and puts it unceremoniously on the edge of the stage. "So, have you talked to Jasper?" He speaks louder than usual to drown out the noise around us.

"Yeah," I bend towards him so I don't have to yell, "he apologized and we're back to roommate status. I didn't tell him that I know who he's dating."

He sips at his beer. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Well, it's nice that he apologized." I know I'm dodging a real answer.

He knows that, too. "That doesn't really answer my question." He grins slightly.

I take a big gulp of beer. "I hate it! I'm still in love with him and I think I'm a pussy for not telling him that I know about his affair."

He nods slowly. "I figured that you're properly into him. Well I'm sorry. That sucks." He gestures casually. "But I insist that you're not a pussy. You're just sparing yourself some genuine stress."

I sigh. "Let's talk about something different, okay?"

He shrugs. "Okay."

We both look around for a moment, drinking beer. Nearly all of the female clientele looks very excited and full of expectation. They're giggling, they're squeaking, they're jumping up and down like hyperactive kids. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. But not much. And Will seems to have similar thoughts because he starts to laugh when the girl next to us sighs, "Brendon is so cute."

Suddenly he looks at me with a mischievous glint in his steel blue eyes. "I think we should give them something to really squeak about."

I have a suspicion what he's up to, but before I can process my thought, he wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me into a deep kiss. I stumble a little, manage to balance myself again by holding on to his left shoulder and then I return his kiss without really thinking about it. The logical side of my personality is of the opinion that our smooching is not PG. Not only is Will kissing me with all the tongue he has, but he's also grabbing my butt and rubbing his crotch against my hip. But the other side of my personality doesn't give a damn.

I can hear a lot of "ahs" and "ohs" and indeed some squeaking around us. Finally Will releases me and I take a deep breath. Then I grin and mumble, "I felt a little bit like squeaking myself."

He wiggles his eyebrows and throws a portentous glance at my general loin area. "I thought so."

I clear my throat as I'm noticing that everyone around is staring at us and I'm happy that the support act decides to enter the stage in this exact moment.

Will chuckles and turns around nonchalantly to watch the show. I need a moment to calm down. After the moment has passed, I lean forward and shout in Will's ear, "My sister is getting married on Friday. Do you want to accompany me?"

He looks at me briefly and smiles. "Sure."