Yearning, learning and preserving.

I hope you enjoy!

Once the scent of her is washed from my hair, once I have reason to answer Edward's obnoxious demands for my attention and once I... once I...

I blush on the confession even now.

Once I wake from a fantasy of her, of her figure, her chest and the mere suggestion of it displayed... Once I wake from that in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, discovering a hand on myself, I conclude, oath in fact, that I should distance myself from her.

The conclusion leaves me breathless at first.

There had been more days this semester that I'd thought of her, than there had been days where she wasn't in my thoughts. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't control my dreams, I couldn't control my mind and at worst, I couldn't control my curiosity.

It was safer, morally safer for me to stay away.

But the hours of her absence plague me like wistful seconds of my life.

The more I vowed not to think of her, the harder it was to stop the fidgeting. I'd pour my nose into my books. My hand would tap on the buttons of my laptop. I'd bother Edward, fall to my thoughts, think oh-so often of my faith.

... And that was just over the course of two days.

I was lucky she didn't notice my distance.

More because I was failing at it. I still bought coffee in the morning. I'd leave it on her desk and hurry off before I could fall into conversation. Before I coerced her into knowing more.

'How many was that?' Edward asks, gratingly.

With the nib of my pen I count the tally strikes. 'Fourteen.' I murmur.

His pixelated face pulls into a smile.

'In the first half.'

'Goddammit.' he bellows and again, jabs down furiously on several inconstant notes. I lower the volume significantly and return to my papers, waiting for him to start again but instead he falls to a simple, practice scale. Running his hand up towards the higher end of the keys, he plays an intro he knows I'm partial to.

'This isn't on the programme,' I mutter, neglecting to show even a smile of appreciation.

'Bad day?' he asks, furrowing squares of brown.

'No,' I answer, turning again to my notes.

'Carlisle?'

'Mm?'

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing is the matter.' I sigh, unmuting myself again as though pressing an intercom button.

Nothing is the matter. Nothing matters.

My new no-masturbation diet was admittedly having just a slight effect on my mood... ever so slightly. But other than that, I was fine.

I was dandy. A-ma-zing.

'Well... maybe you should try telling your face.'

'Is something the matter?' I ask. Demand in fact. I had no ability to harm him and yet he shrinks from the camera in confusion.

'Well... your attitude for one-'

'I don't have an attitude-'

'What is wrong? What happened? Did you flunk a class? Break your new phone? What's the issue-'

'There isn't an issue!' I growl through gritted teeth. And my phone was perfectly fine.

It didn't matter that I hadn't spoken to her in two days. Two whole days. Forty-eight hours. There was nothing to be concerned about.

Because I am keeping my distance.

I am away. And she is ... unaware.

Completely, absolutely unaware.

No idea.

'So...' he whistles. 'You don't want to talk about it then?'

'No.'

He moves from playing the tune I like, back to the repetitive pain in my ass. This time, he makes double the mistakes.

And I'm sure the Kid does it just to piss me off more.

'Long time no see,' she chuckles one Morning and this time, her hair is twisted into various knots as though she is attending a party. The waves are breezier too, hasting down by her ears, tickling the exposed collar bone. Wrapped in the cloth of her sweet perfume.

I can't forgive myself to grunt at her. I just can't do it.

But I mustn't talk to her either. So I stare at her ankles. Her exposed ankles, her squeaky trainers.

'Thank you for the coffee,' She sings. She smells the coffee, sighs, smiles sweetly, rolls her wide eyes...

I don't even open my mouth to say goodbye. I mustn't do that. I can't talk to her.

'Sixteen,' I tell Edward that night.

He bangs his head on the keys, forcing obtuse, crass clunks into my speakers.

Tonight is the night. He texts on Thursday Morning. I am tempted to flip him off but I don't know how to propose doing so with no understanding to the photographs, the internet cloud or the way you unite the two.

I'm doing better this afternoon.

Almost.

I might be grouchy and frustrated... but God was helping. If I repeated scriptures to myself, I found I could get to sleep simple enough. Not as quickly. Nor as contentedly. It was a necessary toll. I didn't want a repeat of the restaurant. Ever. I needed to be better.

I also found timing my showers was another additional aid. It played into my added stresses of course. Like my lessons did. But it kept things simpler. I wasn't at risk of ...wanting... when I was being timed.

There was one thing though. One pleasure I couldn't yet give myself into. My theft as it were.

Her plate.

I said I would return it and I planned to eventually, but for now... for now, witnessing it on my draining board, the shape of the ceramic, the flowers painted on the side like a family antique.

Every-time I tried to leave my room with it, the arguments for its procurement won me over. Rather than risk its potential dangers down the stairs, of having it slip from my hand and shatter to the floor, I kept it on my draining board. I washed it, too. Dried it. Polished it. Considered crockery restoration. Researched it. Worried over the dangers to it. Decided not to risk it. Washed the plate again... and thus the routine continued.

Friday's lessons are better.

Cartwright actually graces the lab though he gets several of the answers wrong and is so acutely harassed by one of the nicer department heads- well, it's just a little entrrtaining..

The fault comes of course when he and his buddy saddle up to the left of the cadaver, standing, as typical, in my eye line. I go to move except he tilts his jaw in my direction, pausing me.

'Hey, Cullen?'

Don't engage, don't engage, don't engage...

'Hm?'

'That girl I've seen you hanging with-'

My blue eyes come to the matching colour of my notes. I've dragged my hand a little too far and now coated my wrist in the ink. I sigh.

'You know,' he whispers. 'The one with the huge jugs?'

My pen nib squeals, cuts through the paper. Slices it.

'Huh?'

'You know her, right?'

I want to say yes. I want to say that we are incredibly close and that she absolutely fucking hates assholes with red hair and stubble. And she really fucking hates biceps. Gigantic, over-sized, bulging biceps. They looked like an anti-steroid campaign.

In fact, she fucking despised them.
And yet, I wouldn't speak on her behalf.

I decide not to answer. I didn't want to say yes and admit my failures, I didn't want to say no and leave her vulnerable. I... just didn't want to say no.

'Cullen.' He repeats impatiently, half glaring my way. 'Do you hang around with her or not?'

'Who, sorry?'

He rolls his eyes, his friend pushing into his arm.

'You know!' he chides, playfully. 'Little Miss Ditzy. Came wandering into our lecture at the start of term? Hasn't returned since?'

'Yeah, sounds like she needs some catch up lessons,' his buddy adds, raising eyebrows as though I would permit them such joys in life.

Yes. Yes of course. Here, teach the poor girl her first Medical lecture. Go right ahead. No problems here. My hand slices a few more pages by accident. Little Miss Ditzy. Little Miss-.

'Cullen!' Cartwright hisses.

'What?!' I snap.

'Problem, Cullen?' Asks the professor and now she's pointing at me with the end of her scalpel in a way that can either be an indication to take the example or, at worst, a threat.

'No, no. Please continue-'

'Permitting me are you?' She asks, reproachfully and though I blush I also bite down. 'Anyway-'

As she continues, the boys in front snicker.

'You have a way with women.' The friend laughs, making some kind of ridiculous face as though she was my number one concern in life.

As if I didn't already know the utter danger to society I was. As if... I rub my eyebrow with a fingertip and return to my note taking.

'So, you doing the chick or what?'

My nostrils flare. 'What?' I hiss.

'Ah, thought so. You won't mind if-'

'As in pardon.' I clarify, darkly. 'What did you say?'

'I asked if you were doing her.' he repeats, his face looking like a pathetic shaving advert that most of the women in this vicinity had the misfortune of falling for.

I didn't know what he was saying but he seemed to be lacking an important verb in his sentence and though I could infer he wasn't being particularly sensitive; I didn't actually know for sure what he was asking.

'What?'

'You know. Nature's dipstick,' he snickers, his friend now laughing into his jacket.

'Yeah, discovered any diseases yet-?'

'Excuse me-'

'Carlisle Cullen- Do you have some peculiar aversion to Liver Histology? Or are you of the assumption that you know-'

'Apologies.' I repeat, grunting.

The children in front continue to laugh into their fists.

'Look,' Cartwright begins, settling from his obnoxious giggles to talk words into his collar. 'All I'm asking is if you're shacking up with her.'

My teeth are pressed together so tightly this time, it's causing my jaw to ache and whinge.

'If you're dating her-' he says, expanding the words.

The leader looks up, snaps up rather and with a pointed glare towards the laughing pair, orders them out the room.

My victories are minor but worthy of appreciation.

'I have a question,' I ask Edward a few hours later. I know I shouldn't be phoning him when he's at school. But he's only missing gym and I know he'll thank me for it in the long run.

'Okay, shoot.'

And even if I would talk to him later... that time was dedicated to his practice. He'd need to concentrate then.

'It's a rather delicate... matter.' I murmur uncomfortably.

I've come to sit on the grass outside the laboratory now. At half past the hour, the majority of students are in lessons and while I could easily return to a lecture I have listened to a number of times... the grass is a nicer place to sit. Even if it is cold. And even if my scrubs were too thin for the weather.

'Oh?' he asks, warily.

'So I'll need your sensitivity.'

I could hear the eye roll.

'Continue,' he sighs.

'Okay so... say someone you know-'

'Carlisle, you know two people and one of them is me. Just give me names-'

'I'm not giving you names.' I complain. 'It's a breach of privacy-'

'What?'

'The Data Protection Act forbids that-'

'Fine,' he whines. 'Say you know someone who?'

I inhale, slow, thoughtful. I was trying to put things the right order. 'Say that you're aware that someone you know is interested in another someone you know-'

'Like... romantically?' he asks. I almost don't want to answer.

'It's too soon to tell,' I confess. 'It... well it could be... It could be romantic?'

Could it? Oh God could it? Was that the issue?

I can't name the feeling in my gut, there were no words. My hand fiddles with blades of grass, weaving them on the inner knuckles.

'Right...?' he murmurs. 'That's er... that's something. Something big. No?'

'It's big.' I agree. 'It's...' My teeth come together again. 'It's unexpected. But you're right. It's big.'

'So,' he sounds ever so like his father when on the phone. 'So, someone you know has romantic feelings for someone else-'

'Yes and... and the issue is that the second person. The receiver of the romantic feelings... well she-'

'Oh, so it is a she then?'

'Edward.' I complain.

'Alright, alright. You were saying.'

'Okay.' I inhale again. 'Say that you had reason to believe that these romantic feelings for her were, er... unwarranted.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that... she's not expecting them. And that she most likely wouldn't want them because she's most likely romantically spoken for anyway. In a twenty-first century way that is. Not spoken for because she's a woman.'

'I know, Carlisle.'

'Like, spoken for... romantically-involved-with-someone-spoken-for.'

'Yes,' he mutters impatiently. 'I got that. So you're concerned that this girlfriend of yours-'

'Edward!'

'Fine! Whatever! You're concerned that she has a boyfriend- but you don't actually know this for a fact?'

'I have reason to believe-'

'Based on?' he asks.

'She... she's...' She had the type of face to constitute people falling to her feet in pleadings of her attention. 'She...' I continue. 'She had clothes in her bag. Like... a tshirt...-'

'What's that got to do with boyfriends?'

'Well... it means that she was staying with one, right?'

He guffaws so loudly I lower the phone towards the grass. 'No?'

'Don't laugh, there's other suggestions as well.'

'Like what?' he snorts.

'Like the fact that...' She's really, really... really quite affectionate. 'Based on the fact that she's er… friendly.'

'Like a flirt?'

'No,' I whine.

'Like a slut?'

'No,' I snap. He grumbles.

'Well, what then? What's the big clue?'

'People like her Edward. She's likable. And approachable...'

'Has she ever mentioned having a boyfriend? Dropped a name in conversation? Referenced another man in the slightest-'

'Well... er... no.' I murmur. 'But at dinner she-'

'At dinner?'

'Lunch,' I correct, already blushing. 'At lunch she-'

'You- you went to lunch with her?'

'Uh huh..'

'There you are then! Of course she's single. She wouldn't go on a date with you if she had a boyfriend.'

Everything was so simple in his world. Everything had such an answer. Unless it was a problem of his.

Then the world was ending and no one could assist.

'It wasn't a date.' I correct. 'It was lunch.'

'Did anyone else attend?'

'Well, no-'

'Sounds like a date, to me.'

'Oh like you'd know!' I mutter. 'Look, it wasn't a date. No aspect of it was a date, okay? It was just lunch.'

I don't even know why I was referencing it again. It was making my face burn as though I lay in an incineration oven.

'So you are concerned that your romantic feelings are not reciprocated?' He presumes. 'Because you thought she had a boyfriend?'

'What?'

'What?' he repeats.

'What have I got to do with it?'

'What?' he repeats again. 'What do you mean?! You're worried that you-'

'Not me.' I insist. 'I'm irrelevant in this.'

'Carlisle! Fuck off-'

'I'm not talking of me- I'm talking about some... snotty bulbous toss-pot who wants to date her-'

'What!' he shrieks. 'We're really not talking about you?!'

'Of course we're not talking about me?! Why would I have romantic feelings for Esme. Have you met me?'

'Are you taking the piss?!' he yells, voice like needles into the receiver.

'Of course not-'

'No, fuck off. I'm hanging up. There's no way you're retreating from it now.'

'I am not talking about me.' I stress, grumbling into the line. 'Look, there's this guy in my class. He's an absolute shit. Said he wants to date her- what do I do, Edward?'

'What do you mean what do you do?'

'What do I do?!' I groan.

'Do you like her?' he asks.

'For the last time, this isn't about me. Do I tell her? Do I tell him to take a hike? Do I warn her?'

He groans. I groan.

'You said he was a toss pot?'

'He's a conniving, arrogant, derogratory, misogynistic, offensive piece of shit-...'

'There's your answer then.'

I scoff. 'I can't make that kind of ruling? I can't decide I know what's best for her-'

'But you think he's an asshole?'

'Well... yes...'

'Okay cool. So don't let him date her.'

'It's not that simple.' I complain.

'No, it is.' He laughs now, harshly. It makes me feel a little like a kid. 'It really is that simple. You're making this big drama over something which is ridiculously simple. She's your friend right?'

I hesitate. I had reason to believe that such acts had made me less of a friend and more of the worthy scumbag that ought to be imprisoned. At the very least even if I were one to introduce said hormones, it wasn't like I conciously thought of her.

God no. That would be immoral.

'Y-yes.'

'And you like her?'

Ugh… the problems with having a teenage-best friend.

'Get to the point.'

'Like, like her? Like... more than platonic-ly?'

'Kid, come on. How many times do I have to tell you-?'

'Fine, then she's just your friend. But regardless, as your friend, you shouldn't want her getting hurt-.'

'Obviously.'

'And therefore... don't let the douche date her.'

'Do I tell her?' I ask, cautiously.

'What?'

'Do I ... warn her? Or is that really insane?'

'Carlisle you're insane. I'm not a girl, I don't know what you should do-'

'Don't say that. We just reached a conclusion-'

'Fine. Tell her, explain to her why you don't think it's a good idea she dates him. In like... explicit detail.'

'That makes sense.' I agree.

'Yeah... really explicit detail. Explain to her exactly why you don't want her dating...'

'That's actually kind of smart.'

And best yet... I had reason to un-distance myself again. Valid reasons. Safe, understandable non-fallible reasons.

'Thank you.' I sigh. 'I was getting myself into a bit of a knot.'

'Mm. Don't see why you'd knot yourself for girl you're not even romantically interested in.'

I roll my eyes. Ask one question and he thinks he's the see-er of all.

'Anyway, I'll speak to you this evening.' I say by way of ending the call.

'Good luck.'

'Much appreciated, Kid.'

'Yeah, yeah.' And just like that, he hangs up.

I find myself unmistakably lighter following our chat. Lighter, cheerier and resolved. In fact, the rest of my classes go by fairly easily and on the decision that I needed- that I was ethically expected to discuss new revelations with my friend-

Such a term was striking to me now.

Of course she was my friend. She treated me with kindness and curiosity and generosity and I did my best to do likewise... but to claim the title. Perhaps I hadn't been a brilliant friend to her. I didn't realistically know what needed to be done to earn the badge, or even, how I had once earned the badge.

The guilt was still immobilising at times but in all I was...

Assured.

Yes. Completely and utterly assured.

Come that evening, I even discover the energy to make dinner and though I rush through it for the sake of Edward, I'm still proud enough that my walk downstairs follows with a tune at my foot.

'You seem cheerier.' Edward observes, facing the camera with inquisitive demand.

'Do I?' I respond, pulling my books onto the counter. 'Well, I've just eaten, so my energy levels-'

He smirks, stretches his hands, clenches his fists and run his fingers up the keys a few times. The introductory practice affords me a head start on my notes and with both headphones in, the tally book resting on my keyboard, I lose myself to the two tasks. He's doing better. Fewer mistakes and in specific areas. I've counted eight so far but then it's only his first run through.

At his fourth, a few peskier slippages occur so that he's pushed the number to a bordering fifteen.

Eighteen days. Eighteen days to curb it. Plenty of time.

Perhaps it's the focus of my work that leads me to not look up come noise from the door. The common room didn't allow for the only entry into the hall, but it was an obvious one so such creaks from it late on a Friday were not enough to arouse my suspicion.

Not with my hearing attuned to the piano.

And yet naive curiosity leads the look and surprised, I find that Esme is at the door. Odd. She should've been at the theatre. Grateful for the lack of visibility from Edward, I raise my hand in an acknowledging wave.

She doesn't wave back. She frowns.

Her hair is messier this evening. She has the top half up again, like from the launderette's but it's been knotted into a sagging bun, pencils spiked through it as heavy, fallen locks fall to her face.

She's not wearing as many colours today, only the two. Her lips are a cosmetic pink, her cheeks a tinted rose and her eyes dark and tired. She's wearing those black overalls again too. Though she's forgotten to clip one side and so her jumper, the one with the patterned waist, catches my notice.

It was temptation but I was determined.

'Good Evening,' I say, eyes flicking briefly to ensure I am muted.

I pull an ear phone out, conscious of the unusual bounce in my voice even if it's wrapped with suspicion. She's still frowning. Really quite deeply.

'What are you doing here? You're missing your show-'

'I could ask the same thing,' she answers and for some off reasoning, I am sensing the tone is somewhat... accusatory. 'I thought you were busy this evening?'

She's wrapped her arms over herself, her hands hiding in the cuffs of her jumper while her fingers curl on both humerus bones. She doesn't look very humoured. In fact, I think she's, uh, glaring?

'I thought that something came up?!' she quotes. 'Not that you bailed on me to study-'

Her hands gestures to the books, the back of my laptop where she presumes I am doing the bulk of my work. Oh. She is mad. Really mad. Her jaw seems to have straightened and her neck has flushed to a warmer pink.

Edward's notes continue to jar in one of my ears.

'It's not what it-'

'You know, if you didn't want to go, that's fine. But you didn't have to lie to me.'

The sourness of her tone has me both mute and paled.

'Esme- I-'

'Just forget it,' she dismisses then raising her hands, she storms off in a bit of a strop. Leaping up in a tangle, I half damage my hearing when I run up after her.

'It's really-' Is this why they called it the cold shoulder? Because the lost warmth of her affection had me feeling chilled? 'Wait-' I repeat, trying to disrupt her line of exit. 'Es, please, wait a moment-'

To think on it, I doubt I had ever said her name so much in a single minute. Nor that she had a nickname. Nor that I knew the nickname. Nor that I would be the one to grant it. She does pause now, huffing. Glares at me.

'I did want to go- really I do.'

She pushes her lips together.

'It's just- my brother,' I confess. 'He's got this-'

'You have a brother?' This hasn't seemed to help matters. If possible, she's looking even angrier. 'You said you didn't have siblings! You said-'

'It's kind of a complicated-' I murmur, uncomfortably.

'So you lied,' she groans. 'You lied to me. Again.'

'It's-' I flush, rub the back of my neck. 'Well, he's- he's not my brother but he's as close as. He's a musician-' as I blush, the explanations come out like a waterfall. 'A really talented musician at that. He's got his final grade coming up and he just- he needs me.'

'What has that got to do with lying to me?' She asks and while her voice is softer, her expression remains unchanged. Her gaze had always been direct. Now it was sharper than knives, pointed, edged enough to slice through ice as though it were butter.

'Well, you have siblings...' I murmur, shyly. 'When I call him my brother, I'm aware it does not hold the same value as yours-'

For one, we might have wrestled, but I'd never hunted him down for the sake of leftovers. I hadn't fought him for his father's attention either. Even if I was often freely granted it.

She sighs, still frowning though those fierce eyebrows of hers bend into a slightly gentler look now. When she speaks it's as though she's wrapping blankets over me.

'You know that's silly, right?' She's fiddling with her fringe a little, hesitant. 'What does it matter if he's blood or not? It means the same thing.'

'Well-'

'Blood doesn't make family, Carlisle. And sometimes... Sometimes those ties aren't enough to make a family anyway...' she sighs again, rubs her forehead as though she's wiping away something. When I tilt my gaze to her, I realise she's wearing a very small, very fragile smile. 'What does it matter to me if you've got a brother or not, huh?'

She had a point.

'I'm sorry I didn't clarify.' I whisper, guiltily.

Her expression has softened significantly. She could almost be amused now. Amused, tired and slightly more pink.

'Well... I'm sorry for yelling at you-'

'I do really, really want to go.' I repeat. She rolls her eyes. 'Really. I love the theatre.'

'The more you try and convince me, the more you sound like you're lying-'

'Sorry.'

She smiles, sighs and with a pathetic hand, playfully shoves my arm. 'Is this why you've been so quiet this week?'

'No.' I murmur and then I consider how four days felt like eight years and how just looking at her, hearing her words, the pointed jut of her hip. Even if she was yelling at me, I was quite happy to take it. 'Er... Kinda.'

She shakes her head again, pulling her long hair from her lip as she sways a little.

'Would you-' I swallow and start again. 'Did you want to meet him?'

'Your brother?' she asks, her voice a little higher than normal. I nod, rubbing the back of my hair.

'He's here?!'

'Well, sort of. He's on the internet.'

Judging by her laugh, I think I have possibly confused the grammar of the sentence. Regardless she smiles, shrugs in a way that is unusually shy. I nod on over to my laptop.

'He's playing but you'll like it, I think.'

She hesitates, follows my lead a bit awkwardly and with her hands still hidden in her sleeves, sits next to me so she's facing the screen. Her eyebrow raises and cautious, she moves out of the way of my laptop's webcam.

'He can't see us.' I explain, passing an earphone to her. She looks relieved and puts the earbud in. 'Sorry, the quality isn't very good but we had to lower the resolution in favour for sound.'

She stays quiet, smiles, and indicates for me to go ahead. I press on the unmute button and clear my throat.

'Sorry, Edward. Would you mind starting again? I lost track of that last one.'

The playing stops and glaring in what should be my way he presses roughly on several random keys as revenge.

'You ass. That was my best one yet!'

'My apologies,' I murmur, grinning at Esme. She's concealing a laugh, badly and I suspect she is still nervous as to the exposure. I wait till the kid starts the ramble again before I explain. 'He has his exam later next month so I'm keeping a tally of the number of mistakes he makes.'

'How do you know if he's made a mistake?' she asks, whispering as though we are in a theatre. I rub my neck a little.

'You can tell.' I reassure, just as he accidentally presses on two keys rather than one. 'Like there.' I say and a start a new tally table. 'You can also tell by the off notes or the pauses.'

'Why are his eyes closed?'

I shrug. 'If he can't play it blind then he clearly can't play it.'

'Harsh.'

'Not my words,' I laugh. 'His mother's.'

'Your mother?' she asks, quietly but I simply shake my head.

She doesn't press the matter and I don't elaborate. Rather her hands move to her neck and fixed in his talent, she sits silently by my side, breathing in harmony to his movements, her eyes focused on the muddied quality of the picture.

'Would you like me to introduce you?' I ask once he's started playing the tune for the sixth time.

Esme, Es, as I had called her, hasn't spoken in a while. It's the longest I've been in her presence and heard nothing come from her, no fidget, no hum, no discussion. I was concerned she was uncomfortable. Though when I make the request, she is pulled so fiercely from her thoughts, it almost takes few seconds for her to witness me.

'Like. Disrupt him?' She asks, concerned.

'If you like?'

'No, no. Not yet. Let him play.' She sighs, softly, resting her chin on her hand. 'Let him play.' She repeats.

It goes unbeknownst to Edward that he has an additional audience member that night. She remains stoically enraptured in his talents, plump lip pressed to her knuckles with her eyes on the screen. She watches me count and relay the number to him, remains still as I return to my studies but in all listens.

My eyes go to the time. She hadn't eaten and it was late, nearing time to sleep. The thought doesn't occur to her. Conversation doesn't occur to her. Until finally Edward tires of his own notes. Sighing, he cuts the ramble short.

'Only thirteen in that one.' I murmur. On the screen he snorts, clicking his neck and stretching locked shoulders.

Es, though smiling, remains unmoving. It was a shame really, she'd only had chance to witness his rather pitying pieces, the one he was throwing a temper for.

'How about another?' I request, eyeing her response. She grins now.

'Carlisle, I've been playing for hours-' Part of the typical act, he had to be assured of his fame before giving into it.

'Play something else. Just before you go.'

He is knowingly suspicious now and I feel my ears reddening as I continue to write up my piece. 'Why?'

'You played without complaint the other night-'

'Fine, fine.' He grumbles a few choice teases and softens his hands to play the tune he had tried to play for me the other day.

This time, she does move. Pulling her leg up and leaning on it, her other foot bounces in rhythm to the music. Her expression remains the same, endearing, studious, curious and when it ends, when he plays the final note, her frown starts to interweave.

'Thank you, Maestro.'

He snorts again, gently closes the lid of the instrument and raises his hand in leave.

'Goodnight.' I reply and with that, he ends the call.

Like an embarrassed mute, I pretend to have my focus on my revision for a little longer.

She had been quiet for so long that I wasn't sure how best to break into conversation. Not even with the obvious. It takes several stupid moments of me obsessing over how to ask for her thoughts and then turning, I see she is sleepily resting against the wall, staring upwards at a beam in the ceiling, still clinging to her knee.

'I forgot to study,' she says though her smile suggests she's too pleased to be concerned.

'It's good to have a break every now and again.'

'He plays-' she stops, shakes her head, laughs. 'You must be very proud...'

'I am.' I reply. 'Very proud. He'll go far.'

Naturally, my eye finds the dimple on her cheek as though we are well acquainted.

'He plays beautifully, Carlisle.'

Strange the sensations she was causing though I was grateful it was the less endangering kind. As she spoke of him, my knotted stomach seemed to plummet altogether. I felt a bit weightless again. To think she found value in something that was quite honestly the richest thing I'd owned. To think she admired it too just made her all the more... endearing.

Funny how compliments of him felt like a compliment to me.

Perhaps possessive too, though.

'Esme, I-' I look at my hands. 'I wonder if I might ask you something?'

'Mm?' she responds, still following the tune of a snooze. She still looks as if she's in a blissful daze, chin elongated so that I can see her throat.

'Er.' Now I'd done it. I had to tell her now. I couldn't back out. It was my one condition... I feel the ground loosen. 'Do you-er?'

She raises an eyebrow, coming forward now to peer at my mess of a blushing face. I scratch a shaved cheek.

'Do?' She probes.

'Do you- do you have a-' utterly, outrageously forward of me. 'A boyfriend?'

She seems to be breathing rather heavily, her answer coming out almost soundless. I was concerned. It didn't mean to frighten her or demand personal information but she seemed startled by it.

'No.' She says it sternly, lips twisting. 'How come?'

She... didn't have a boyfriend?

Edward was right, the Tshirt in her bag- Had I just spent a month hating an apparition?

I certainly wasn't wrong though. She is good and lovely and sweet and... tempered. I couldn't see why she didn't have one. Why hadn't anyone discovered the blue prints of her tower and demolished it accordingly? Why wasn't she being dated and dined and spoiled and accompanied to the theatre?

Maybe she didn't like them. Maybe she was into women-.

'How come, Carlisle?'

When she catches my eye, it's like she's pouring her perfume into my open mouth. My sounds lose their liquidity.

'No, it's just-' I already hate myself even before the words are out in the open. 'Someone I know is asking after you.'

'Someone you... know?' she imitates and now looking at her, I see her thumb is on her lip again, her chest beating rather rapidly.

'Mm.' I rub the back of my hair. 'He's a bit of a character.' I complain and for some odd reason, this sparks her intrigue.

'Oh?' she says, coming closer.

'Bit of a Toss-pot.' I confess, awkwardly.

'A... toss-pot?' she chuckles.

'He's a bit thoughtless, to be honest...'

How easily the criticisms come from me now. I would happily dive in, in fact. I was more than willing to burn his chances.

She lowers the stance of her leg so that they're crossed in front and brushing a few rogue strands of autumn brown, she moves even closer, tucking her chin and her eyes beneath me. In fact she's sitting so close, I can almost feel the warmth of her sunshine smile.

'Thoughtless?' She asks and if she were any closer, she would be speaking from my lips.

'Just a general... idiot.'

'I don't believe that's the case,' she reassures warmly.

That just made her too nice. Not willing to see the error in sight. I didn't know what it said for him or his friend. I wasn't even too sure why I was offering her the profile. He was a disrespectful, disgusting embarrassment to my specialism and if he-.

If he disrespected her... My jaw goes hard.

'What did you want to ask me, Carlisle?'

'Well,' I sigh. 'I think he wants to date you. He asked if you were single and I didn't know myself so-'

She shifts backwards a little, her expression unreadable. 'Er, he?'

'Yeah, um. Anthony Cartwright? He was in that lecture you accidentally walked in on-'

'Sorry,' she murmurs, shaking her hair in confusion. 'Who are we talking about?'

That made me feel a bit better. I didn't know why. It was just better.

'Um, he's kinda... sporty. Tall, I think. Red hair, red stubble...' Smells like a locker room, talks like a Neanderthal, has riches to sway every lecturer in sight. 'He offered to supply you notes?'

She makes a face of disgust. It takes all twenty-six of my facial muscles not to smile.

'Oh that's er... nice.' She laughs, whisking her hair from her face. 'He's just not really my type though...'

'You have... a type?' I ask and such a concern leaves me quite worried at first. I don't know why. I just didn't want to picture the people I was at risk of seeing her with. I didn't want to visualise it. I'd make a mental note to avoid them.

'No.' She laughs. 'But if I did, it wouldn't be him. You're right he's a bit of a toss-pot.'

I laugh too, letting the sound bump in my chest in a strange mixture of relief and utter inexplicable joy. She tilts her eyes to my watch, groans and stretches so that her waist pulls in.

My new ruling for such risks as these is that I can only acknowledge the angle if I do so for a medical purpose. Therefore, catching the overall shape of her rib leads to the silent punishments of running through the muscles thus allowing the move to take place.

'So, will Edward play for you every night?'

'Until the seventeenth.' I correct, dropping the thought of the external obliques. 'Every night.'

She hums to herself, slowly pulls her posture out of chair and twists to look me in the eye. Her hair has fallen mostly from her shoulder now, slipping down her back and to the straps of her Overalls.

'So I suppose I'll... see you Boys tomorrow then?'

My grin couldn't be any wider. Not even when she comes nearer to wish me a sincere:

'Sleep Well, Carlisle.'

'Goodnight, Esme.'

Before I fall asleep that night, I find Edward has sent me a text. Your friend can say hello, you know. I don't bite. Snickering, I shut the device off.