I am feeling generous, have an early, early chapter.

Would love to hear your thoughts!

It is from coffee I discover that I have a competitive streak. In seemingly irrelevant situations.

Edward had tried to suggest it once. He had obviously been ignored.

Yet now, on the seventh coffee purchased in a row, I find the thrill of winning effervescent. There is something more effervescent of course. The real joy to winning... The effervescence of essence itself.

It's her laugh.

Seven times I had presented her with coffee. Seven additional times that is. Every time she'd gasp from her diaphragm, her face would soften to the smell, eyebrows interweaving. She'd breathe it in through both sets of lungs, filling her chest and then she'd sigh. And she'd thank me.

Then she'd roll her woodland eyes.

This winning streak even strikes me amused in events where I couldn't run the race. I had late evenings this week, only catching her in passing. Every drop-off resulted in the same. The Gasp. The Smell. The Sigh. The Smile. The Eyeroll.

'You've got to stop this,' she warns me on Tuesday Morning.

'Stop what?' I ask innocently, already heading toward the exit.

'This is the third one in two days. Not only will your accountant slaughter me, I'm getting side effects!' She raises her hand then, it's jittering slightly. I would've thought from the cold. She watches me frown. 'You're such an enabler!'

'Or a professional druglord?'

She doesn't hear this comment and I don't care to repeat it.

She was right of course. I was pushing it. Overstepping the mark. I'd even ordered a coffee direct to her room at one point and though she thanked me in text form, another first, I got the impression it wasn't as well received as intended.

Perhaps she liked to sleep in.

Even the baristas were starting to know me by name. Not just name. Order. They'd make such comments like: 'Ooh, isn't it cold today?' and 'Madness this queue, huh?'

On one occasion they even let me cut the line. Though that was most likely due to the scrubs I was dressed in.

Nevertheless, despite my exhaustive week and the lack of sleep, I find Thursday Morning better than most. Classes are held off on account of the break and while most students were heading home, bundling on trains, fighting traffic, I was in the common room, my laptop on knees, headphones in.

It's with deliberation that Esme doesn't tell me when to expect her. The routine thus paused, I try to get focused into absorbing Latin... when she disrupts that, too.

'You're going to break some hearts sat there all alone,' she apprises me and now skipping a little, I see she's trying to conceal a large package behind her back.

'Oh?' I ask.

'Really... no local grandmothers you can go dote on?'

I shrug my shoulders a little, smile.

No jeans today. No ankles or fun character socks. A skirt though. Short Skirt. Chestnut colour with brass buttons down the font. She's paired them with thick black tights and tall brown boots. It doesn't distract from the shape of them. Outlines them in fact. Colours them bold. She's wearing a hat, too. I can't tell the type, whether it's a slouchy beret or a baggy beanie but it's cream coloured, to match her jumper.

It suites her. It also provides amble attention to the chaotic waves of her hair.

It'd gotten longer of course. In the time that I'd known her I reckon it had grown by at least two inches. It certainly looked longer. Thicker but thankfully the same colour. I can see beneath the hat she'd styled it, breaking it out in large soft curls not too dissimilar from her usual look. I tilt my eyes to look at her legs again.

Eventually she has to disturb me from my daydream.

'A simple no will suffice...?'

She was singing. Singing without singing...

'Hm?'

'You are in a daze today.' She chuckles and perching on the side of the table, her skirt coming up, her thighs padding, she hands me a foil plate.

The thought of her thighs so close to my resting hand has my heart hammering, so I quickly look to her face instead.

'What's this?' I ask confusedly though reason suggests food. Judging by the glint in her eye, I'd guessed correctly.

'Food.' She answers. 'Specifically Thanksgiving Dinner. I know you won't be returning home today and while I suspect that means you'll eat whatever your version is just a day or so late... I didn't want you to miss out...'

She'd made me... dinner?

'I'm just sorry I won't get to share it with you.' She laughs at this, clearly fond of her own cooking. Good. That meant I was at no liberty to share it. 'Oh!' And jumping up she reaches into her bag and hands me an additional, smaller tub. 'I don't think you have any allergies-'

'No, none,' I answer, accepting the gifted box with what I hope is a sincere smile.

'Well, good. No eating that before dinner...'

'What is it?' I murmur, peeling open the seal. She shuts the lid down, kicking up a stern eyebrow.

'What did I just say?'

'Er...' I had no idea. She was pouting now, a lipstick pout, hand on her curved hip with her knee bent in... A fabric knee and yet still I could envision all the lines beneath.

'After dinner.' She repeats.

I chuckle and loop a cross with my index finger.

'What are they anyway?'

'Home,' she replies in a sigh. 'Just home.'

She cautiously pulls out the seat in front and balances her elbows on the table, staring neither at me, nor not at me but somewhere in between. Judging from her smaller bag, it was clear I shouldn't expect her to stay long to study.

'Are they picking you up?' I ask, trying not to stare at her again. She grins and nods.

'We're going to head to Crater Lake Park, I think. They're actually running a bit late.'

'They won't be long,' I reassure and even though I don't know them, the waved line of her smile suggests she needed the reassurance.

'No, I hope not. What about you? When are you leaving?'

I shrug my shoulders.

Realistically I could turn up any time and the Masen's would be red carpet ready. I was conscious to avoid it. Not because I didn't want to see them. More because I didn't want the fuss to be made. I was looking forward to seeing Edward though. Whenever that would be.

'Will you fly?'

'Most likely. Is that how-?'

She shakes her hair. 'No. The Train for some reason. They didn't say why.'

'That's er... quite the dedication?'

'Yes,' she chuckles and then she nods to the plates. 'Not to try and lead your charge here, Doctor Cullen but I think you ought to chill your food-'

'Ah,-'

'It's okay.' She interrupts. 'You can leave your stuff; I'll wait. They've kept me waiting after all.'

The common room is void of people and even if it weren't... stolen laptops weren't such a popular issue in Hall B as they were in Hall A. Though with gratitude, I do as she suggests. Coming back into the scene however, I realise she has barely moved an inch.

'What will you do first?' I ask, in tune to the excitement bumbling around her. She shrugs at first but quickly replaces this with a few options. 'My brother used to camp a lot when we were kids. They're real Friends of the Earth kinds... So I suspect S'mores. And Bourbon.'

'Interesting choice.' I laugh.

'Molly is a bad influence.'

I nod cautiously, waiting for the eventual explanation.

'My sister in law.' She laughs. 'She's a New Yorker.-' She reads my confusion like a newspaper. 'But her family are from Kentucky. She used to put it in puddings... but that got dangerous.'

She giggles a little more, sighing so that her rouging cheeks rouge more and then she jumps up, skipping around her chair a little, eyes shifting to her phone. It hasn't lit up. No notification so far.

'What's your niece like?' I ask, enjoying the laps she takes of the chairs. Her fingertips linger over the leather back, stroking the studs, boots clacking on the sound.

'Inquisitive.' She answers dreamily. 'Cute. Mischievous.'

'Like her aunt?' I murmur, meaning to say it only to myself.

'Oh no, nothing like my sister. She is a lot fiercer. Her way or the highway really... What?'

She has of course seen that I am laughing now and twirling on the spot to return towards me, she asks the question with a tilt of her jaw. I don't wish to alleviate the notion to her just yet and leave her to boil while I type away.

'Carlisle?'

'Hm?'

She sighs again, less thrilled this time. She was getting bored.

'I'm sorry. I'm distracting you...'

'Not at all,' I lie. She rolls her eyes before following her feet round the floor again.

After fifteen minutes, she sits down, touching her cell with the pad of her middle finger. I pretend not to notice. She hasn't received anything yet.

'I should've brought my books with me,' she complains, eventually. I lift my head up to find she's resting her chin on her hand, quiet...

'When are they arriving?' I ask, wondering if I could persuade her to stay.

I didn't want her to stay. It was too distracting... too exciting... but there was something mildly disappointing about the fact I wouldn't see her for a few days. I didn't even have the possibility of bumping into her.

'Soon,' she murmurs and then with an honest sigh, she turns her gaze from me, 'An Hour ago...'

'That's only an hour,' I say. I attempt to catch her eye now. Or not so much her eye, just her gaze. I wanted to read what she was thinking. 'Delays and the such like...'

When she whispers it's less like she's addressing me and more like she's admitting it to herself. She's pinching her fingers together again, frowning towards the kitchenette.

'They arrived this Morning...'

'That's good, they'll likely be early-'

She laughs, shortly. 'No, Carlisle. They arrived This Morning. They've been in Eugene for hours.'

'Hours?' I repeat, confused now. My eyes fall to my watch. It was long past Morning. Perhaps it had been generous thinking they were late. They weren't late. They were, what? Cutting her out? 'Well then they're not far, right? Most likely on their way?'

Her fingers are through her hair as if she's trying to wipe the exposure from her cheeks.

'Do-'

'Huh?' she asks, tilting her face towards me.

'Do you want to- er? We could... you could... We could-'

'Could?' she asks.

'Go?' I offer sheepishly. On every deep inhale, I taste the burn of her perfume. I didn't know what I meant. Whether I was inviting her somewhere or offering a ride or even... Who knew? 'Or stay, we could just stay and-?'

And what? Study? Sit in the dark for the next few hours, barely speaking? What could I realistically offer?

Her phone starts to light up then. It buzzes on the table, shattering earthquakes through me as it moves towards my papers. Her warm eyes snap to mine before she picks it up.

'It's them.' She murmurs disbelievingly. She jumps up when she takes the call, moving towards the window again with the autumn sun on her face and hair. She's curled a hand to her mouth, listening intensely until a frown crosses her features.

'Harry-' she complains. 'Put Molly on the line- I said put Molly on the line!'

The papers in front can do little to hold my attention now. Particularly as her chest starts to move in rapid, fierce breaths. Her tone gets sharper, too. Pointed. She was angry. No, not just angry. Hurt. She was hurt. She wasn't liking what she was hearing.

'You're not being fair!' She complains. 'Henry, C'mon.'

Her voice is still strained when the call ends but rather than look at me, she looks to the floor with a sour expression on her face. This time I'm smart enough not to allow myself the enjoyment of witnessing her kick furniture.

Furniture she'd likely defend if someone else threaten the same violence.

'Late?' I ask.

'They want me to meet them. You know. Because they've only hired a car they don't want to waste gas on.'

'Right?' I say. I had no idea. No dim clue. All I knew was that the warm browns and soft creams and the earthed colours of her, they were just captivating. 'Wait, they're not coming for you?'

She shrugs. 'They're not sure yet.'

'What does that mean?'

She's already un-clipping her hat, shuffling her brown coat off. It said enough.

'They want to see the sights.' She says it while looking at the table and then, being without her own notes, she drags my notebook and starts to read.

'Esme?' I ask, enjoying the cadence of her name.

'They'll try to see me later-' she dismisses, again irritably. 'Anyway, tell me about the Limbic system?'

'I can take you?'

I have clearly ignored the fact that by taking her, she would be leaving my company sooner. She doesn't quite look up, she's still reading. I try to speak this time like I aim to be heard.

'The train would take ten minutes but I- I can drive you.'

'You're very sweet.'

As she says this, her chest billows with an exalted breath and I find my hand is at the back of my head. She didn't seem to be taking me up on the offer. In fact, she leans closer, her curls balanced on the paper.

'I'm not sure I should go,' she murmurs. 'My mother and I don't always get along and-'

'I thought you were meeting your brother?'

She sighs again. 'So did I.'

'And your niece?'

She winces. 'She'll barley recognise me-'

'One year olds have a surprisingly good memory.' I correct and then I find myself pointing in general direction to her perfume. 'Particularly when inspired by smell, you might find-'

She's burying her face from me.

'I think you should go.' I tell her, surprised by the lack of hesitancy. 'You have been looking forward to seeing them-'

'But now it feels like I'm a burden-'

I can't soften anymore without turning to silk so I drop the hasty Masen affections from the start of my sentence and try to nail the point to a conclusion.

'They've come all this way. They'll want to see you... And regardless of that, you want to see them. Your niece won't even understand the concept of being a burden-.'

I wasn't expecting her to laugh. Not when her expression had fallen glum all of a sudden. She submits to a smile.

'You're right, Carlisle...'

'I usually am.' I tease, preparing to pack my books away but she stops me.

'No, don't be silly. I've disrupted you enough.'

Perhaps if I weren't so unusually thoughtlessly mute around her, I'd be able to dismiss these qualms and accompany her where needed. Instead, I slip back into my seat.

'Thank you though... and thank you for... you know...'

My smile comes out a little haphazardly.

'Let's just say I'm thankful for you,' she decides, smiling.

She's still not as joyous as she was when she first arrived yet I have hope this would return in time. Even if I wouldn't witness it.

'Happy Thanksgiving, Carlisle.' And now she's looking straight at me again, bag on her shoulder, fabric knee pushed into the other...

'Happy Thanksgiving, Esme.'

And she leaves, waving with a curl of her hand, her hat half slung across her head.

I come to decide two things that evening, transfixed in the perfection of her food.

One, whoever the prospect of her boyfriend is, the envy that consumed me was debilitating. To live under the talents of food, this food, was not only a disservice to all, it was misery to the very TV chefs who attempted a career out of this kind of thing.

Two, the privilege of knowing her outweighed the indigestion I would be soon crippled by.

'You're late,' Edward complains tapping the steering wheel with either drumstick for fingers.

'I said not to expect me,' I correct, now clambering through the open door. The Kid rolls his eyes so hard it's like a performance. It suits him. I've missed it and in spite of his desire to irritate, I'm relieved to be in his presence once more. I almost feel relaxed.

'You say that every year-'

'Because one year, sooner or later, I might not make it-' As I talk, he throws his mouth open to mimic the sound, not even feigning the modesty to be shy about it. 'Edward-'

'Yes, yes. I know.' He sighs, ruffling through his messy copper locks.

I meet his eye as I reach across to flick his indicator on, holding my frown in. I didn't get his aversion to keeping his license. Though I'd be damned if he tried to lose it in my presence. It'd taken to much effort to get him to pass. I wasn't about to let that go to waste.

'So, how have you been? How is school?'

'How is school for you?' I ask instead.

'Stressful. Boring. A waste of my parent's money-'

Here we go...

'Elitist, ridiculous, pathetic-'

'But over.' I remind him. 'If only for the weekend...'

He grunts in answer and settles a little further into his seat, relaxing his left elbow.

'How have you been?' I ask, quietly.

'You've already asked-'

'No, I asked how school was.' I correct. He sighs, quite the image of his father when his broad shoulders lower.

'I'm fine.' He shrugs again, clearly wanting the point to be over. 'Mom is on my defence so little to worry about there-'

'Have you been arguing?'

'Worse.' He complains. 'We've been getting along.'

'And that's bad?'

His relationship with his father was anything but simple though I knew it wasn't frivolous. The arguments Mr Masen usually found himself in were based in a genuine desire to help. If they weren't arguing perhaps that meant they were feuding. Regardless, my Brother of sorts continues to talk rather scathingly of his lessons as he drives home, occasionally twisting his attention to ensure I'm listening.

When we enter from the kitchen, the space light and wide with the suburbs peeking through tall windows, Elizabeth grasps me from the side and plants a fierce kiss to my cheek.

'Oh Carlisle, Dear. Thank God you're home!'

I accept her welcomes with a grasp of my hand. I bought them flowers too, as a distanced thank you and she throws her attention to them as though they fare as one of Edward's gluten-based art landscapes.

'Are you well?' she asks, breathing her perfume on me.

Elizabeth is a very opulent Middle Class woman. High class really if Edward Senior could persuade her enough. She is warm and beautiful and friendly. But her perfume is singular. It had just one texture to it, just one strand. A specific type of flower. Not the ones she was holding. And now a scent I usually found so comforting was lacking almost. Empty.

'Very. And yourself?'

'You don't look well,' She complains and I have to feign offence in tune to Edward's complaint of 'Mom'. 'Have you been eating?'

'Yes.' I say honestly. In fact, thinking to yesterday's plate, the meat, the creamed potato, steamed veg buttered to perfection- I was actually hungry. Hungry and tired.

'I'm not sure I believe you.' I go to tilt my face away from her piercing green eyes but she lifts my face up. Assessing the depth of my wellness apparently. She hums a little, moves her head to the side and sighs. 'I think perhaps I ought to correct myself. You do have a little colour on your cheeks...'

'Yes, I er, I've ventured outside a few times.'

Edward snorts.

'It's about time. Nevertheless, I'll leave you to unpack-.'

She squeezes my arm as she passes, her stiletto heels making clicking sounds along the tiles as she pressed the bouquet to her nose.

'Dad's leaving the office early.' Edward murmurs from behind.

'He is?'

A nod.

Unusual. It usually took hell and high water to get Masen to leave the office. A few times he'd had to be dragged out by his wife. And on one occasion, one she duly likes to remind him of, he favoured it over witnessing the labour of their first born.

Though I doubt I could judge the man there. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to have Edward- he just would've preferred his son to be welcomed into his world rather than succumbing to a new one altogether.

'-I hope that's not-'

'-Because you're here,' he answers and there is a slight tone to it that I don't wish to examine.

The Kid leaves me to unpack in silence but considering I had no plans to stay longer than a few days or so, it doesn't take me long. The room is also eerily familiar. It should've been empty but for the four-poster bed, the dark walls and the dark desk.

They'd tried to keep it as if I had never left. Medical books had been paid for and decorated the shelves. An air freshener had been bought. The room vacuumed daily, the bed made, the heating on...

I can't hold the groan when I slip onto the bed.

I'm grateful. Of course I'm grateful. But I had no intentions to permanently return. And they knew it.

Rather than let my eyes slip closed as they so dearly ache to do, I open them. Wide. I open them so wide in fact that I can't ignore the letter sticking out of the wooden canopy, back where I'd stashed them years ago. Knowing that Edward would wait until I found him, I reach for it and run my eyes over the aged lines.

My Son,

He always started like that. The limited amount of affection he could bequeath himself.

It shall be no secret to you that I am in the States. (It wasn't- I had expected it from the outset.) As ever, Masen has exiled me from the grounds.

I doubt you will wish to see me following the Settlement and though I think your silence unjust and overly callous, I am reminded that you are young. And 'studying'...

Trying to hasten you from Illinois was my mistake. I am told it is your home now and that to remind you otherwise would only harm our relationship further. Words from your precious Elizabeth that time. I trust she is sufficiently mollycoddling you. You and your precious Thomas.

(He'd meant Edward but had never bothered to learn his name.)

Nevertheless I think to the order when I beseech you to consider that relationships go two ways.

I hope to see you at Service this Sunday.

By the Grace of the Lord, I pray you well.

Old. As his letters tended to be. I can't help but flick to the next one.

My Son,

I am assured that you are safe and well, though I know not how I am yet to trust these Guardians of yours when they so strictly impose such restrictions. Hypocritical, is it not? Masen will happily drink with me and talk of your accomplishments like they are his own but when I dare to infer my own questions, he treats my concern as imposition.

I trust you are comfortable enough that you find it not necessary to correct him of your heritage? You once shunned me for the avarice of greed and yet you favor the one who seeks it for you...

You do not pain me with your contempt. You pain only her memory. Scorn it.

Alas, I did not write in malice, Son. Your visits are short and flippant, much like your temper, and though you do grieve me with your resentments towards us... I would like to see you.

Before the end of the year.

With the Grace of God-

Your Father.

I flip through a few more, till I can find the one stained with wine, the ink shaky where the anger has spilled across the paper.

My Son,

Do you despise me so?

Do you wish to be as cruel as your tormentors were to you?

Do you seek ignorance as damnation for all that you cannot face?

I offer patience, acceptance, forgiveness. You revolt it like a child. Well your tantrum will not suade me. Ignorance is the enemy, Son. So are your lies.

Your doting abductor informs me that you'll be studying locally. He, like the rest of your cult, think me foolish. Not only are you far too young, too naive for college- it's an institution lost on you.

You will be outcast. Books and papers and puzzles reap nothing while the Lord's work waits for you.

You are meant for more than it.

Besides this, you share my Love of Travel. The unnurtured need to spread His Word beats within your veins, Son. More than blood does.

Meet with me and we shall discuss it. We needn't return to Italy. We'll emigrate...

By the Grace of God- reply urgently. I grow weary of Masen's time wasting.

I consider flipping through the others, more attacks of the Masen's, more references to Edward with names that did not suit him. Instead I retire the papers to their hidden shelf and go in search of my brother. He is in his room of course, laid casually across his leather seat, music playing and a controller in hand. When I knock on the open door, he nods his head as permission.

'Settled?'

'What are you playing?' I ask instead, looking to the box across. He grins, shrugs, mutters a curse or two performatively.

The teenager's favourite pastime; cursing.

'Did you want to play?'

'God, no.'

He laughs again, waiting for me to sit down till he raises an eye in my direction.

'You going to tell me about this girl then?'

'What girl?' I ask looking about myself rather pathetically.

In truth, the warmth begins to grow. I wasn't an idiot of course. I knew Esme was a girl. I knew that she had legs and curves and laugh that warmed her expression. Hands nicked with blades and wood and glue. A temperament both flippant and unpredictable... Make-up on rounded, dimpled cheeks. Eye-lashes the length of threading needles...

'The girl you bought a phone for?' he reminds me.

I cringe quite visibly.

'I didn't buy it for her. I bought it for many reasons.'

'Namely so...?'

'So I could talk with you,' I lie. He obviously sees through me like saran wrap. He snorts, taps a few buttons on his controller. Grins.

'What's she like?'

It's mildly irritating that he can ask this question without it affecting his ability to play. His thumb rolls the joystick, propelling his character forward while a few other buttons make noises for weapons.

'Who?'

Another eye-roll. I was starting to imagine this was less of a move naturally assumed by my two causes of conversation and more a move I inspired of them.

'Your friend.' He insists, pouring particular emphasis to the pronunciation.

'Oh, er. Yeah. Friendly, I guess.' My fingers come to lock together as I consider the description. 'Confident.'

'Nothing like you then?' he teases though I find myself agreeing.

'No, nothing like me.'

He asks if I've attended any parties with her. Got to know her friends. Asks more questions about her that I didn't like to know let alone repeat.

'Will I get to meet her?' he asks, wagging his eyebrows.

'Absolutely not.'

'Why?' he complains.

'It's not like that, Edward. It's... pure.'

Pure is not the right word. Innocent didn't fit either. Though I was keen for the suggestion on his thoughts to die a dramatic death. To even consider her in such a light is... immoral. She did likely have a boyfriend after all.

'Oh you mean like... purity rings and such?'

'No,' I complain, wiping my face now. 'It's just... she's just... a friend.'

'That you bought a phone for?'

I shoot him a look, wait till his attention is taken and tackle him to the floor. He doesn't even wipe the grin off his face when I'm pushing it into his carpet. His laugh causes my arms to shake and in a split second, he's knocked me back till he's leaning on my left calf.

'Ow, ow, ow-'

'Tell me about this girl-'

'She's not a girl-' I growl, trying not to laugh as I tug my leg from out under his weight.

Being slighter, he is naturally quicker than I and blocks the move by pushing a foot in my rib.

'Ow-'

'Don't keep secrets from me- you're not very good at it.' He sings, causing music to fall breathily from my lip as he jumps surges of sharp jolts through my bones.

'Alright, alright-'

'Whose the Girlfriend-'

'You break my leg, Masen and I'll be using the shards of my tibia to bugger you with-'

'Tell me-' he repeats and with a lasting jump, he punches the complaints forth in a series of pathetic concessions.

'I concede.'

Triumphant, he moves off from me, laughing in his boyish way and shrugging so that his over thick jumper shrouds him a little more. I continue the act while on my knees, hands flat on the carpet fuzz when I kick out his leg so that he falls onto his sofa.

'Ow!' he says, rubbing his elbow.

I chuckle now and worn out from the excursion, drop myself onto the cushions beside him, laughing a few lost breaths.

'She's just a friend,' I say once the air has circled my system a few times. 'I think at least.'

'You aren't exactly good at acquiring friends.'

'Well, my point...'

'So...' he pretends to be looking at the TV. 'Is she...?'

'Is she what?' I ask.

'You know,' he mutters, letting his hair deliberately hide his expression. Typical sixteen year olds. Eager to assert their authority. Just as eager to hide their embarrassment.

'What?'

'Is she hot, Carlisle? Does she have tits and an ass, does she talk like she's selling Hershey's Ice Breakers?'

Much like an untammed horse, I feel the instinct to bolt move me from the back of the sofa.

'You would ask that.' While not impressed at the topic, as shown with my eyebrow, I can't fault him for being curious. Likewise, I can't hide the smile when I respond. 'She does have an accent though. Ohio...'

'Oh Ew. Is her mother her brother's sister? Raised by a cornfield, I take it?'

'That's not funny.'

He laughs at his own joke. Pauses. Looks at me again.

'She says 'erm',' I remind myself, feeling the snicker eat up now. 'And talks. If she's not talking, she's humming. If she's not humming, she's fidgeting. Constant. It's almost-'

I expect he was waiting for me to say annoying. I found a few of his quirks annoying after all but I couldn't consider hers as so. Really they were more endearing. Soft. Welcoming...

'Sounds like you have a crush-'

'Sounds like you're mistaken.' I correct, regretting the defensive tone. Clearing my throat does little to soften the move though he seems to not have taken it so personally. For one, he is still listening. 'I don't really know her in all honesty. I struggle to make much conversation.'

A crush. How pathetic. I was twenty and had my career laid before me in a number of repetitive, regular steps. The hormones that would take to a teenage Edward had surpassed their take on me.

Rather luckily, my father's infatuations had done well to keep me logical.

Mostly.

'Not much in common?' he asks.

My eyes are on my hands when I answer, a false nonchalant shrug doing little to sell my piece.

'Most likely.'

'From what I hear girls are trouble anyway-'

The condescension cannot be ignored.

'Yes. Thank you for your infinite wisdom, Kid. Tell me, in which grade did they inform you of this?'

'Clearly the one you missed,' he mocks, poking a tongue out. I focus on the pixels now, laying witness to the irritating pings of the shots from futuristic guns and dark, dank designs. He is blushing when he opens his mouth. Hard. Hiding and cowering from me almost. 'There's also... uh... websites...?'

'Meaning?' I ask sceptically.

'You know... of women... if that's what you're into?'

'If that's what I'm into?' I repeat.

'T-there's all s-sorts online,' he stumbles. 'You know. Fit the Craving or whatever-'

'Edward!' I seethe. 'You're sixteen years old, how on Earth do you know about this stuff-'

'Well-'

'You're not even legal!' I chastise, feeling my gut lurch at the suggestion.

I knew I was awkward and naive. But Edward. My sixteen-year-old Kid brother. The very kid who had been the green-eyed little sprite to demand we play board games, run outside in the yard. Play the piano. Go camping after dark...

It was bad enough accidentally witnessing him Jack off on the few unfortunate occasions. I didn't need a direct understanding into his sources.

'Let's just drop-'

'Agreed.' I had rather hastily.

We both have our arms folded, looking quite the mirror image I must imagine. Alas, I am grateful he does not wish to discuss her for the rest of my stay.

For the time that I am there, I do my best to savour moments with Edward rather than ignore him in favour of studying. Once dinner comes around, and Mr Masen returns home beaming like the Suburban Lawyer, the Kid settles into confessions of his future school life. It always took him a while or two but soon enough he'd open up, unleash his thoughts and hope I could lighten the load.

While I am grateful he doesn't argue with his father that night, it seems the favour is procrastinated only until the next day. He plays after dinner, like always, making faces, gritting his teeth at every mistake and eventually, leaves the accompaniment unfinished as he decides he's done with performing.

We talk that evening. We talk in our way that usually means less talking and more listening but I'm grateful for the chance to hear him. Even if it makes the guilt expand in my chest like a balloon.

'I've been playing it for over six months now- I should've known it weeks ago-'

'This piece is particularly complex.' I murmur.

I've rested myself in an armchair of the sitting room. The fire is on which is not particularly comforting and while Masen is eager to sit and read the paper, I appreciate him not wishing to encroach.

'Everyday, Carlisle. Every single day I've been playing and playing and playing-'

'You'll get there,' I promise.

'It's less than a month,' he snaps. 'The concert is on the 17th. If I mess it up that's years of my life wasted-'

'If you mess it up, you can take the exam again. You're young, Edward. Young and talented. You just need to relax-'

In a groan, he moves from the fire and seats himself on the sofa at the opposing side of the room.

'If I fail, it serves Dad right.'

I grimace. Not this discussion again. It was hard enough having to be present to witness the sparks fly between them, knowing that I was part cause of it.

'You've already agreed with him that you'll do your undergraduate.' I try to say this in a flat tone. Not so patronizing as I fear it will immediately come across. Edward is already glaring.

'Yes but if I fail, I won't get chance to audition for Berklee. Whether now or in five years' time.'

'You can audition at any time.'

He does not look pleased when he turns to me.

'He won't be willing to fund it if I fail...'

'Yes he will, Edward. He will do what makes you happy... he just wants you to have a backup-'

'Why is this back-up then becoming my main focus? For my back up, it doesn't seem to be backing up-'

'And that's why you keep missing notes.' I say. The fire is too warm for my liking and twisting to the opposite side of the chair, I try my best to avoid looking at him so directly. Particularly when he was winding himself up. 'If you put too much pressure on yourself-'

'You got into Med school. You got into Med School while drunk through an exam-'

'One exam, Kid. One and you know as well as I do, it nearly cost me the lot.'

'That's not my point.' he whines. 'My point is that it comes easily for you. You do it without thinking, it's not... something you have to work on. Whereas every-time I sit at that piano... I just keep getting worse.'

I can't hold the sigh in my lungs.

Yes, biology came easy to me. Now. It never used to. It also took so much effort and work and pain to just prepare my memory enough to store the information I needed... but then it was my one focus. My only focus at times. His happier home-life had in no doubt, complicated his abilities.

He'd been too busy being loved to practice.

Shunning myself for the thought, I shake my head clear and try again.

'You're not getting worse... You only made eighteen mistakes there-'

'I didn't even complete it-'

'The fact that you made eighteen is still better than you would've done six years ago.' My attempt to empower the Kid is still pathetic. 'When is the concert?'

'The seventeeth,' he answers, morosely.

'That's ages away, Kid. That's a month!'

'Barely a month-'

'Look, if I have to listen to you play every evening, I'll do it. You're going to practice. You're going to get the grade. And in five years' time, once you've paid your father peace of mind for the years of musical training he's funded... you will audition to go wherever you want. Okay?'

His broad shoulders lower when he faces me. He looks young and tired and stressed but still very Edward like.

'Every night?' He asks.

There's not a pause from my lips when I answer. 'Of course.'

'Thanks, Carlisle.'

'Anytime, Kid.'

In all, my stay with them is warm, rejuvenating yet fleeting. As he is home, Mr Masen returns me to the airport and while Edward naps in the back passenger seat, he puts his hand on my shoulder guiltily.

'He's fighting it.'

'With all due respect, Sir, he is likely to.'

Again, the talk of college was growing tiresome. I had been lucky in that skipping a few years of High School and such meant that it needn't be a cause of contention by the time I left for Virginia.

'I don't want him to waste these next years, Carlisle. I just want him to get some perspective.'

I nod in agreement.

'I shouldn't be putting this on you. I know you're under enough pressure-'

'Not at all,' I murmur. Besides, it was expected I look out for him to some extent. If that meant sharing my place of study, then it was less than I was willing to offer.

'I know it's not what he wants. But… but if he's serious about playing then it won't do him any harm to broaden his horizons.' He has his hand to his mouth as he drives. 'It will also allow him chance to practice…'

This now seems less like a valid selling point and more that he is aiming to convince the both of us. Nevertheless, I nod again and wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn't. He drives with his thoughts caged.

Masen offers me a tough shake of his hand as we part and says little except fortune towards my studies. Edward being a reliable source of trouble offers to walk me through to security and while I palm him off with a bag or two to test his commitment, it seems his attention is mostly taken.

Likely on his concerto.

'Don't fret.' I tell him, awkwardly clutching his shoulder just as his father had done to me. He shuffles a little. 'Seriously, Edward. We have time.'

'When will you be back?' he asks, perhaps intuitively reading my hesitation. 'Not for Christmas I take it?'

'If I can make it back for your piece-'

'I wouldn't bother,' he interrupts. 'I'm the only one allowed in the room anyway. It would be a waste of a flight.'

Returning my backpack to my arm, he nods ahead to the departures. Consistently awkward at goodbyes. I never knew whether I was meant to hug him, jest, jostle, wrestle, perhaps? That didn't seem wise in an airport.

And yet his Noggin' was so full of such meager stresses.

'Behave, yes?' I ask, pulling my frame up higher in a way that I hope is not suspicious.

'Do I ever not?'

'Perhaps educating yourself on Parenting Controls wouldn't go amiss, either.'

He snorts. 'What do I need the internet for now? I hear your girlfriend has quite the figure-'

Smartly, he lunges backwards in prediction to my move but I manage to grasp him with the crook of my elbow, fiercely rubbing my knuckles into the Coronal Suture of his skull. He struggles from under my grip, shoves me off with a red-cheeked laugh and rearranges his jumper.

'Alright, alright-'

'God Forbid you do meet her- you'll regret ever making the suggestion.'

'Is that a threat or a promise?' He teases, flicking a crooked nose in the air.

'Both.' I chuckle. 'Neither from me.'

He hugs me a bit awkwardly before I go, shifting his weight from leg to leg, hands buried in his pockets. I regret not thinking to take a photo of him. Just so my phone could feel less empty... as far as I was concerned it was currently verging on shrine level. Two lonely pictures.

I feel better once I get home early that Morning. Calmer. Relaxed in my own sheets.

And while I hate the Kid for even referencing it, as I plummet my head into the pillow, wrestle with the duvet for comfort... I am reminded of Esme's figure.

Determination and an insatiable sense of wonder leads my legs towards her auditorium come the following weekday. With a light hesitation under one heel, possibly on the guilt of my inner perverted thoughts, and a damn right glide of the other, I hunt down coffee. Good Coffee I am told. Rich blends of fair-traded beans imported fresh from the rain-forests of Costa Rica...

This goes well.

All goes well.

Until I spot her of course.

Somersaulting towards the peak of her first semester meant her dawning further from my tower of words and more towards her own sources of entertainment. I have to wade through the saw-dusted floors, narrowly miss knocking over several structures and designs before I spot her working under the grizzling sunshine of winter, a yellowing spotlight pouring onto an almost vertical desk.

She's standing, too. Her back is to me, her brown heels cuffed under her knee with that familiar corduroy skirt hung just above.

'You got my text then,' she sings playfully and her accent is like warm water over my shoulders. I shiver at first and then smile and place the coffee to her right. Not even a hello... she just dived immediately into conversation as if there hadn't been a pause in routine.

'Good Morning-'

'Thank you for the coffee,' she whispers, moving her drawing apparatus to her opposing hand so she can grasp it in one swoop. It's not until she turns that I realise how unequipped a person could be.

There were two matters of significant demand.

The lesser of the evils, or perhaps the earthquake to my tectonic plates, was the appearance.

Change was not something I imagined myself much fazed by. Childhood had made me flexible to a degree. Accommodating. And yet, the shock of seeing an expression so familiar, a face that I had pondered on a dozen times these last few days framed by a change of hairstyle... it leaves me quite without words. As she often does when working, her long hair has been pulled chaotically to the crown of her head. Strands of caramel gold wisp and wave about her neck, along the fuzz of her jumper, over the tops of her ears...

And then the front...

She often had a few locks that lay from her temples to her chin but such additions were redundant to the wispy block now balanced over her eyebrows. A fringe. A new fringe.

That was the first thing.

The deeper problems came when, upon realisation of my staring, I hastened to throw my gaze elsewhere and could not think of anywhere else excusing the patterns wrapped across her lower chest and waist. The weight of her chest, if you will. Where the fabric tightens, the shapes pulling at the inner belt of her torso. Her... figure.

The figure I'd been thinking of last night.

Though now such a shape was unforgettable. The way her hip sloped out to her thighs, curved about her leg as she wrapped it around the other, pointing with the toe of her boot.

'Carlisle?' She chuckles, leaning to catch my fallen gaze.

'Huh?'

'How was your break?' she repeats. She pours the coffee into her glossy open pout, the tip of her pink tongue flicked to catch the slipping tear of caffeine.

'Er?'

She rolls her eyes, blinking her fringe free from her long lashes. 'Is it really that bad?'

'No. No, just a shock. It's-'

'It's?' She probes sceptically, pulling at pieces with her thumb and forefinger.

'It's-' Gorgeous? Lovely? Becoming? Sexy? Could I think that?

Did I even know the meaning of the word?

Did sexy exist in my vocabulary?

Is this what the word actually meant?

A visceral heat caught in my oesophagus with every touch of warm colour to her face. I always pictured sexy being something as secular as salacious intrigue.

In spite of my confessions, I didn't feel salacious. I feel... confidently curious. I want to stride to her cameo, fidget with the strands as she does. I want to examine them under the light of the lamp, feel the stubby ends, wave my hand through them to see if they are as silky as they look.

That isn't the only thing I feel. I feel warm and exposed and- captured.

It had left my memory that she is sharing the space with several odd students. The majority of my scene had escaped my peripheral vision. All I could see was her wicked pout. Wandering eye. Peach warm cheeks, sharp jaw, soft, messy waves...

'It's sweet.' I murmur, not entirely sure if I am saying this to myself or her. She hears anyway. Leans back a little.

'Sweet?' She repeats, dismally. Luckily she laughs at this summary, fiddles a little more with her new cut and shrugs. 'Don't ask- it was Molly's fault.'

'Ah.' The Sister-in-law. She did inform me she was a bad influence. When I look back up to her I find her teeth are indenting the end of her pencil. She's frowning at her design. Though I want to, I don't look in case she wishes me not to.

'You know the whole stereotype of Girl's cutting their bangs after a breakup?'

The speed in which my head snaps up is enough to cause my neck to twinge. No. I wasn't familiar with the trope. Was it common? Familiar? Was she explaining? Had she dumped the boyfriend I suspected she had?

I didn't like him anyway. He never walked her home.

To respond, I shake my head.

'Well the idea is rather than cope with things or suffer a breakdown, girls just cut their bangs-'

'You had a breakdown?' I ask rather intrusively. 'Are you okay-?'

'No!' She laughs harder now, putting her hand to her breasts, feeling her chortles. Was it that her hand was not held still or was it that her laughter was full enough as to move her hand with such elasticity? 'No, I'm kidding. Bourbon, remember?'

At her chuckle, I lift my eyes back to her hair and frown. She'd managed to cut it... after a drink?!

'You cut it yourself?'

Like most species, women puzzled me. This woman left me without much understanding to basic conceptions deemed common law to her.

'Of course!' She takes another sip of her coffee. Smells. Sighs. Smiles. Rolls her eyes. Puts the pencil on her lip again.

'Well then, you've done an especially good job.' I half point to few missing strands. Accidentally of course. Instinct was moving me towards them before I dragged my hand back. 'It's well-executed.'

'Thanks?' She says, laughing again. 'Please stop staring, I know I've probably missed bits-'

'S-sorry,' I stammer awkwardly. 'It's just new.'

'Mmm... Anyway, how was your break? Did you-' She stops, eyes my wrist with her darkened lashes 'Oh shit- you better get going?'

'Hm?'

I follow her eyes to the clock and wince. I'd barely had much chance to talk to her- I'd been too busy trying to grow used to the change in her appearance. I hadn't had chance to reference this break-up.

'I'm really sorry-'

'Don't be! You're gunna be late for your lab!'

That would be beyond unfortunate. The professor was something of a tyke. Known of course for her whip-cracking and ego brutalizing.

'Hurry, Cullen! Go!'

'I'll catch you later-' I murmur retreating rather haphazardly into a bench behind. I check my watch again. Cringe. Speed a little more.

I don't get to hear her say goodbye. Though I suspect she does it with a pencil in her mouth.