I don't know I've moved until I'm in his lap, hugging him to me.

He doesn't fight me, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me tight.

Have we ever hugged before? I don't think we have. It's … like we fit together, emotionally and physically. I don't want to let him go.

My tears won't stop. Edward's don't start.

"I'm so sorry," I sniff into his shoulder. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," he tells me, comforting me with long, slow strokes down my back. The irony isn't lost on me.

Inside of him, fighting to get out, is an extremely compassionate, but very lost, boy.

The magnitude of this form of comfort isn't lost on either of us, but we don't pull away.

I can't remember the last time anyone hugged me like this. I can't remember the last time I hugged anyone like this.

It's not uncomfortable, despite the heartache. He needs it. He deserves it.

Our hearts thumping together, chest to chest, a low beat in our ears.

For a long time, we sit; me in his lap, my head buried in the nook between his shoulder and neck.

"I should go," he speaks eventually, whispering the words into my ear.

I tighten my arms around him, not wanting him to leave, but knowing this was yet another important hurdle. We can't get ahead of ourselves, even though we want to.

Everything within me wants to be close to Edward.

That pull.

We need time and space to process the past twenty-four hours.

It's our way; small tid-bits of information, creating more questions with answers that can wait -for now.

Lifting my head, I study him closely; the vulnerability so clear in his features now, his eyes soft and shy. Nose to nose, we stare unabashedly; the urge to lean forward and capture his lips with mine is strong. Too strong.

I need to reassure him, now more than ever, that this way is the right way. I can see it in his eyes, he thinks I'm going to run, this is what he's been scared of. From the very beginning, this has always been his overriding fear. Everyone he has ever trusted has hurt him, abandoned him ... taken a piece of him.

Opening up terrifies him.

Hand cupping his face, I stroke his cheek with my thumb, watching as he leans into my touch, breathing deeply.

I find words I need to say. "Please don't blame yourself."

His answering smile is self deprecating, his voice broken, angry at himself. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't save her. I'll never be okay with that."

Survivor's guilt. I've heard about it, I've never witnessed it.

Edward lives it.

Shifting, he pats my legs lightly, snapping himself out of his depressed haze. I witness the change first hand, it's a well-practiced defence. "As nice as this is, you need to move … I need to go."

I whimper, but move, which widens his smile. I'm grateful for that.

"Really great talk, Bella." He mutters sarcastically, I chuckle.

Leaning down, he kisses me lightly on the forehead, my eyes closing, his lips lingering. The gesture intimately sweet. "Goodnight," he whispers.

Just as he reaches the living room door, he turns to look at me. I haven't been able to move from the sofa yet. He catches me wiping my eyes. "Can I ask a favour?" he asks, ignoring my tears, tapping the wooden doorframe.

I nod, my smile brief. "Of course."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he swallows hard. "Leave your curtains open tonight?"

I wasn't expecting that.

"Okay," my small smile returning.

With a nod, and one last tap on the wooden frame, he's gone, shouting over his shoulder, making me chuckle. "Lock this door behind me!"

A/N

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