Alice grabs a slinky, periwinkle sheath dress off the rack and holds it up. "What about this?"

Bella's eyes go wide. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Like shoes? Those are downstairs. We can go there next."

"No, like, it's the middle of winter and it's cut so low my bra's going to be sticking out. I'll be freezing," the pallid brunette complains.

Alice sighs. "That's why you get stickies and we're going to be inside the entire time."

"Hard pass," Bella grumbles.

"But it'll be cute! Just try it on! You said I could style you!" the design major insists.

"It's a no."

Alice puts the dress back reluctantly and tries to find something that her friend will agree to wear that doesn't look like it's made for sad people who hate fashion.

"Oh my god. Why is this so expensive?" Bella wonders aloud as she looks at a pink strapless mini dress with a look of distaste. "What did you end up doing for Christmas?"

"We had friends over for a brunch-y thing and then played games and watched movies! It was really fun!" the short-haired girl enthuses. "Did you have a good time in Forks?"

Bella's face says otherwise. "Edward tried to give me a gift card to Elliot Bay Book Company after we said no gifts."

"Aw, but that's sweet!"

"We had an agreement."

Alice bites back the urge to tell her friend that she's being ridiculous. It's not as if Edward's strapped for cash. What's Christmas without gifts?

"He didn't tell me that he's graduating early," Bella says, shaking her head at a sequined, bell-sleeved dress on a mannequin. "I thought we'd have another year of school together."

"He'll be working in downtown anyway, so it's not far. It's not like you're never going to see each other again," Alice tells her, perusing through some flashier, sparklier dresses and finding one she wants for herself. Light gold satin with bows, pearls, and crystal embellishments. It would go well with her new Walter Steiger pumps.

"When does Jasper graduate?" Bella asks.

Alice laughs and grabs a decently conservative dark blue dress off the rack. "He thinks never, but probably at the end of this summer."

She holds up the garment for her friend's inspection. The long-haired brunette nods. "It's...short. I don't like it, but I'll try it on."

"You're going to end up without an outfit for New Year's Eve with that attitude. Then what? You show up naked?"

"I'll wear jeans and a t-shirt like I always do."

Alice rolls her eyes and sighs exasperatedly. "It's like you don't even care."

"Because I don't," Bella says blandly. "When are you graduating? Are you going to start working full time soon too?"

"I still have another year of undergrad to go! I'm not leaving you quite yet," she grins. "Can you walk in heels?"

"No," the disgruntled journalism major replies. "Can I just try this stuff on so we can leave? I feel like I don't belong here."

"It's just a store, Bella. Chill."

"A really expensive store. I'll have to take out another student loan if I want to get anything."

"Which is why I'm treating you!" Alice sings. "Although they're not that bad. I have things that cost way more. It's an investment."

Bella looks distressed. "Where does your money come from again?"

"I occasionally make custom order prom and wedding dresses. And I'm good at investing," the darker-haired girl informs. "What kind of makeup products do you have already?"

"Lip balm," Bella says with confidence.

This is going to be more difficult than anticipated.

...

Edward skims through the card stock brochure, glancing over the familiar program for the Pacific Northwest Ballet's production of The Nutcracker.

The Seattle Center theater hall is full of families and large groups of friends culminating to see the production before the holiday season ends.

Alice is almost literally bouncing off the walls with excitement.

"This is my favorite time of the entire year. Except for Paris Fashion Week. And New York Fashion Week. Ooh, and Milan fashion week. All the fashion weeks, really," she says, grabbing Esme's arm for emphasis.

The home designer agrees. "I love seeing all the beautiful dancers in their costumes, and the music is quite lovely."

Growing up, Edward's family had season passes to the ballet and the classical music performances held at the venue for every year as far back as he can remember. His parents enjoyed experiencing the finer things in life like the performance arts.

He wishes Bella had come along with. Instead, she's spending a night in with her roommates.

Alice punches him in the arm lightly. "Why are you sulking now?"

"No reason," he says, not having realized he was frowning. "How was shopping earlier?"

"You don't care about my shopping. Just ask the real question. You want to know about Bella," the small brunette says, cutting to the chase. "We found an outfit and she's still bent out of shape that you got her a present."

"It was barely even a two-hundred dollars."

"Yeah, I know. I don't get it. It's a Bella thing," she says, running her fingers over the thin, chain necklace she's wearing. He hasn't seen her wear it before, and the small, single diamond on it isn't something she'd typically go for, even despite her shopping addiction. She gravitates toward flashier pieces with pavé accents and bouquets of jewels rather than simple designs.

"Who's that from?" he asks.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" she asks bluntly as she continues into the theater. "Your whole reason for being so rude was because you thought Jasper was the mystery stalker, right? You know he's not now, so cut him some slack."

"You're forgetting the part where he hangs out with drug dealers, pops pills, and has awful grades. Who knows what else he's involved in? He could still be dangerous," Edward scoffs.

"He hasn't had any alcohol in almost two weeks, and up until this quarter he's had a 4.0 GPA,."

"And you believe that? He probably had someone write all his papers for him," Edward says with a scowl. Alice doesn't respond.

"How was Forks, Edward?" Carlisle asks, slowing his pace so that the redhead can catch up.

"It's pretty rural. There's not much there, so we spent most of the time at Bella's father's house. It's very...quaint."

"Small?"

"There's one shared bathroom and we had to split her old twin-sized bed," Edward confirms with a nod. His shoulder was still sore from being cramped up against the wall for two nights.

Carlisle laughs. "Well, did he like you? Did you make a good impression?"

"I think so."

They follow behind Esme and Alice to the dress circle row of the theater, located up close and personal to the stage.

"Eleazar didn't make it to Christmas this year. He went to Spain to go see his girlfriend's parents for the first time," Carlisle says, taking a seat beside Esme. Edward follows suit and sits on the other side of Carlisle. "You might know her. She teaches Spanish at the university. Her name's Carmen."

Edward knows that name. "Emmett and I took a class with her last quarter. She's nice. She didn't even fail Em when he accidentally turned in a paper in size-two font."

"Really! Small world. Small paper."

"Yeah."

The lights dim and he hears Alice squeal in elation, chattering enthusiastically to Esme beside her in a low voice about how much she's been waiting to see The Nutcracker yet again. She's too noisy. Edward leans forward to shoot her a disapproving glance and she scrunches her nose at him.

The stage lights come on and music begins as dancers take the stage.

He's seen the production several times before, but something about watching the Rat King torment Clara and the gingerbread soldiers bothers him this time. His stress increases as the ballet continues. The pas de deux between the Nutcracker Prince and Clara is almost impossible to watch.

If Bella is Clara, would he be the Prince or the Rat King? It would be easy to just write off James as being an obvious choice for the main villain in their hypothetical story, but does that automatically guarantee him a spot as the perfect prince charming?

Not likely. He's still bothered by how much danger she's been put in, and how little he's been able to do to prevent it. He still isn't strong or smart enough to keep her from people who could hurt her. And how can he expect to protect her from others when he can barely protect her from himself?

Every moment they spend together, he's plagued with overwhelming thoughts that would surely compromise her virtue and grace if followed through on. Every time he lets her down by not giving her what she wants—what she deserves—he feels terrible.

Nothing he does ever seems to be exactly right. The dates he plans, the nights they spend together, not even the gifts he picks out for her seem to bring her the adequate amount of joy he's hoping for. While he feels like they have a connection better than he's had with anyone else, they seem to be on different wavelengths. He's having trouble understanding her.

He needs to do better.

The Rat King, he decides, may be a role he's suited for.

...

"Did you like the movie?" Emmett asks as they get in his Jeep to head back toward Rosalie's apartment.

She'd picked a rom-com flick that had gotten high reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. It was the kind of movie Alice is always watching. There were a decent amount of good jokes thrown into the script, and the cast was comprised of easily recognizable actors.

"It wasn't bad. I liked the soundtrack," she answers. "The ending was too predictable."

"Isn't that the point?"

"I guess so. Love triangles that end with some crappy cop-out for the third wheel are so overdone. I hate when they introduce a new love interest for the straggler in the final act," she complains. "Like just let the losers be single."

It's a short drive to her place, and they arrive just after midnight. He cuts the engine when they reach her street in Queen Anne, parking just up the block from her building.

"Thanks for driving," she says, grabbing her keys out of her purse. She leans over to kiss him, but lingers in the car after, waiting.

"Can I come up? You're off tomorrow, right?" he asks, looking out the passenger side window behind her to the tall, lit-up apartment towering over the street.

She glances back at the building as well. "Sure...yeah."

Emmett hasn't seen her place since when she first moved in. Upon entering, he notices the addition of new throw pillows and a blanket for the sofa, as well as several pieces of artwork and framed photos scattered about the walls.

"It smells super good in here," he comments, noticing the sweet, cozy scent.

"Thanks, it's a candle. It reminds me of my parent's house, but better," she says, taking off her shoes and setting her bag on the credenza in the entryway. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Nah, I'm cutting carbs until New Year's Eve," he says. "Dry January is way too drastic for me, but I feel like I have to do something to make up for the holidays."

"That's...healthy," she yawns, the scowl on her face getting distorted by the fatigued action.

He pulls her into his chest and kisses her with a laugh. "Tired already? Maybe we should go to bed."

She nods. "Mhm."

He brushes her blond waves away from her face and kisses her again. "I want you."

Rosalie's response is less-than-enthusiastic. "I'm not in the mood."

"Like at all? Even a little bit? You're killing me here," he groans. He hasn't felt so sexually frustrated since high school. He thought she'd be in a similar state.

She gives him an irritated look. "No, not even a little bit."

"Oh," he feels his normally solid ego deflate. "Is there something you want me to do? I mean we don't have to do it now, obviously, but we've only done it the one time, like, weeks ago. And you cried after. So just wanna, uh, check-in with you. We can try other stuff if you weren't into it."

"No, I don't want you to do anything. Go find someone else to fuck if it's such a big deal," she remarks viciously. "I don't have an 'on' switch I can just flip"

Ouch. What was that for?

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm just wondering if something's going on. It's hands-down the best thing about being in a relationship and we're not doing it," he explains.

"So what you're saying is I'm killing the relationship," she says bitingly.

"No, what I'm saying is that I would totally go down on you for like fifteen—maybe twenty—minutes if you asked and I don't get why you..." he trails off. "What's wrong?"

Rosalie's angry temperament seems to have dissolved into a more somber but equally as inhospitable mood.

"I don't know if I should tell you." Rosalie pulls away, putting distance between them and shaking her head. "If I do, don't say anything."

Her seriousness makes him worry over what it could possibly be. There's no way she thought his dick was too small, and he made a point to shower twice a day because he was always working out. Maybe her birth control's messed up. That can always throw a wrench in the fun.

"You got it. I'm as cool as a cucumber," he promises.

"A month before I was supposed to get married...back in September...my fiancé and his friends were walking me home after a party. They were really drunk and Royce asked if they could come up to hang out for a while to sober up before calling a cab to the other side of town," she says shakily. "I said that was fine because I thought they'd just sit around watching TV or something. Two of them are married and the other's engaged, and I'd talked with them on several occasions. But they, um...forced...themselves on me. And beat me up. That's why I called off the engagement and moved to Seattle."

His heart sinks.

"What..?" he's unsure of how to respond to the information. Before he has a chance to say anything she's already heading into her room to shut herself in the walk-in closet. "Rose, wait—"

He hears her crying on the other side of the door, and he feels just as bad as the last time he'd seen her cry. Half of him wants to hold her and the other half wants to rip apart the guys who hurt her.

What kind of a monster would be able to do that to their own fiancée?

"Rose?" he requests. "Babe? I'm really sorry. I had no idea. Can you please come out?"

When she doesn't answer, he decides he'll have to wait until she calms down like last time. He flops down on her bed with a sigh and tries to think of what to say to her.

Rosalie opens the door a half-hour later with puffy, pink-rimmed eyes. She gives him a look of apprehension, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.

"Do you need a hug?" he asks. His brows pull together sympathetically.

She comes over to him and lays down with her face against his chest, making his shirt soggy with tears. He wraps his arms around her and tries his best to be comforting.

"Please don't tell anyone. I get it if you want to break up," she says shakily. "I can't give you what you want, and I may never be able to. I've been selfish by not telling you sooner. It's really messy and—"

"It's not your fault your fiancé turned out to be a scumbag. And you're not selfish," he interrupts her self-deprecation. "How much time did they get?"

"None. I didn't press charges."

"What do you mean? They should be serving time for that shit."

"I told you already that my family's business is really important. I don't want my name plastered all over newspapers and tabloids for everyone to see," she snaps. "I want to forget about it."

"Rose..."

"Don't Rose me. This is why I didn't want to say anything."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm trying to let you know I care about you," he concedes, exhaling loudly.

"And I'm telling you that I'm going to need you to not rush me or think I'll be...fixed soon...because I don't know if that's ever going to happen," she says, sitting up and pulling herself together, surely in preparation for another scathing verbal exchange. "If sex is important to you, then I don't want to be the one to keep you from it. I'm not a reliable source."

He thinks about it for a moment. He could go back to casual dating and hooking up whenever the moment strikes, but for some reason, the idea seems less enticing than it did previously. He wonders if this is what commitment and monogamy feel like.

"Yeah, I don't think I wanna see someone who's not you, though. Like I've told you before, I really like you," he says decisively. "I mean, it's happened once, so...it's not totally off the table? Like it'll happen again. It wasn't like this when you'd had it other times, right? So..."

"The other time I mentioned was the time I just told you about. I was planning on waiting until I was married."

"What? No. That definitely doesn't count as...ugh. What they did is assault."

She rubs her eye with the heel of her hand and shakes her head. "Fine. It doesn't count and I don't have a list of reputable recommendations to vouch for me. Add that to the list of red flags."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm trying to figure out where you're at, not making a pros and cons tally," Emmett gives her a confused look. "Is other stuff still okay? What all are you comfortable with?"

"I don't know. What we've been doing," Rosalie brushes her hair behind her ear and scrunches her brows. "I just need to be able to take things slow because it comes and goes."

"Okay, we'll play it by ear. We can go as slow as you want, Babe. I'm a slug for you...I'll slow down, baby...slow it down, yeah, yeah..."

She looks at him with irritated disbelief. "Are you seriously making a Christina Aguilera reference right now?"

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood. The message comes from my heart, though," he affirms.

He feels like he may be in over his head, and he doesn't know what he's going to do with this new information, but Emmett knows he'll have to figure it out if he wants to continue seeing Rosalie.

...

"Good evening. You're listening to Midnight Sun: Seattle's best music podcast. We stream live every Sunday night from 11 to 3. I'm your host, Edward Masen, coming to you live for our final show of the year. It's 11:02 pm and cloudy with a temperature of 43 degrees.

"This year was personally quite monumental. I met a lot of new people, both good and bad, and fell in love with a girl entirely too wonderful to even be fathomable. I often lie awake at night wondering what she could possibly see in me when she's so undeniably perfect, in fact, but I digress...

"Since we'll be embarking on a new year soon, I want to start off tonight with something that I feel encapsulates the melancholic nostalgia of a new chapter. This is 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane."

Edward mutes his mic and starts the music. He sits back in his desk chair, twirling a pen between his fingers while he tries to sort out his thoughts.

Grabbing the notepad sitting open on his desk, he jots down a melody that has been stuck in his head all day. It sounds hurried, like an out-of-control train running down a track, and it's irritatingly loud.

The song in his radio line-up shifts to "Let Her Go" by Passenger and his phone screen lights up. He grabs it from its spot beside the desktop keyboard and reads the new message.

"I'm listening. Are you coming over after your podcast is done?" Bella.

There's also another message he hadn't noticed from Emmett. It was sent an hour ago.

"I'm staying at Rose's tonight. I'm probs not gonna make it to breakfast in the morning. Raincheck?"

Dammit. He had wanted to bounce some ideas off Emmett.

Edward's going to have to wing it.

"You should get some sleep. I won't be done until three and that's far too late for you to be up." he types back to his girlfriend.

Bella's response is quick. "I can wait. Call me when you get here and I'll let you in."

She's as stubborn as always, disregarding something as simple as her own sleep and wellbeing to spend time with him.

If he tells her he won't come over, surely she'll still stay up. It's yet another instance of him having a detrimental effect on her. She needs to take better care of herself.

He gets up from his desk and leaves his room. Judging by the lack of light coming from Alice's door, she's asleep already. He goes downstairs and finds Carlisle and Esme sitting on the couch, both reading—Carlisle off an iPad and Esme out of a paperback novel.

"Aren't you supposed to be hosting Midnight Sun right now?" Carlisle asks.

Edward rubs his eyes irritably. "I need advice."

"Have you played any Florence + The Machine lately? I love her," Esme says. "Or maybe some John Legend."

"Not music advice," he corrects, sitting on the couch with them. "What if I'm a bad influence on someone I care about?"

Esme's the first to talk. "Edward, you're not a bad influence. You're a wonderful friend and housemate, and I'm sure Emmett and Alice would agree."

"Why would you think that?" Carlisle asks.

"I think Bella's right for me, but I'm not right for her," the redhead divulges. "I'm being selfish by keeping her."

The blond doctor's brows furrow. "Did something happen?"

"Not yet," Edward sighs. "Never mind. I have to go finish up the show."

When he returns to his room he finds his playlist running smoothly through the tracks, nearing the time for the first break. As the John Mayer song comes to a close, he unmutes his mic.

"And that was 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,'" he cuts in. "I'll personally be staying home, but if you still don't have plans for New Year's Eve, there's going to be a party at MoPop downtown. Tickets are available now at a discounted rate. That being said, whatever your plans are for the evening, I urge you to party responsibly and make sure to call a ride if you're drinking. Keep yourself and others safe."