A/N

Sorry for the delay ... try not to hate me too much!

This chapter IS NOT beta'd, so please excuse my Britishisms. They will be fixed and the chapter will be updated as soon as i get this chapter back from my beta, Fran. But I figured you had waited long enough, so here it is!

If you can't get past my mistakes, feel free to wait another week until it's beta'd.

Massive thank you to Lizzie and Meg for prereading!

Christmas approaches quickly, the city turning its back on autumn, the days darkening much earlier, and the sun staying hidden much longer.

Sometimes, I swear the nights feel as though they'll never end, which could also be because I don't sleep as well as I used to; life is weighing heavier on my shoulders with every passing, cold day, and I feel as though I'm standing still, watching it all pass me by, held back by fear.

Edward and I spend every weekend together, starting at the youth centre on Friday evenings. Through the week when I'm at school, he spends his days training for his upcoming fight—yet another topic we don't discuss, but the date is circled on the calendar above my desk. March fourth. I'm dreading it.

Things are fine. On the surface. We love each other, and it's a consuming love, an overwhelming, emotive draw that pulls us together, in every possible way. We're always touching, always kissing, and when we're at his place, we hardly ever leave the bedroom.

It's our bubble, and it's safe, though it's also a cowardly delusion. If he spends time with his friends, I stay away; I haven't seen them since that morning a couple of months ago when they turned up and made me uncomfortable. And I hate that I don't have the backbone to just … show up wherever they are and rise above their petty behaviour. For Edward. But I also know that there's a part of him that doesn't care that I keep myself separated from his friends—that I stay away. It's a barrier between us—our two separate lives, a restriction, a border, a wall.

It doesn't work, but we can't let each other go, so we ignore it. When we're together, we're so deliriously happy, and we work. But there's a worry, a deep gnawing darkness in the pit of my stomach, and it fills me with dread, though I try so hard to ignore it. Edward ignores it too. He succeeds.

College.

Harvard.

My applications have been filled and sent off. He doesn't ask and I don't say.

We talk every day, and sometimes the conversations are deep, but we never discuss the future.

It consumes me when I'm alone though—the worry.

The distance—though not far—will be the end of us. I know it will, and it kills me. It eats me alive.

There's no way I can ask him to leave Chicago—this city is such a massive part of him, of who he is. Edward without Chicago, isn't Edward at all, and that's not what I want for him. I could never ask him to lose himself so I can find myself. I could never be that selfish, but I want to be, and it's tearing me apart.

I can't ask him to give up who he is, in exchange for who I am. Or who I want to be. Who I've always wanted to be.

I don't think he knows that it plagues me as much as it does.

I don't think he cares. I want him to care, but he changes the subject every time I broach it, and over the past few months, it's made me think that maybe … this is what he wants, this is what he believes was always going to happen, so he's more at peace with it than I am.

I think of Edward, always, and what this will mean for us. I think of Chicago and how much I'll miss it. I think of everything. Everything that wasn't a factor this time last year, but is so much more than that now.

Pain simmers and brews, deep in my gut. Because I know it's imminent. I can't have both. I want both, but I can't see how it's possible.

Today is overcast and grey, just like me. The light bedroom curtains blow in the cold breeze; light fabric reaching out towards me, the chill crawling and wrapping my body in its grasp. From here, I can't see the street, but I can feel it. Chicago. I still feel it, I still hear it, I'm still drawn to it—I'm rooted to it now.

My mind takes me across the city, to Edward, and to his surroundings.

The South Side is just as much a part of my being as Edward is. They've shaped me, and I've grown. When I think of a life in another city, a deep looming dread eats away at me; it's all so unknown and if I'm being honest, I don't know if I want it anymore.

But … I've always wanted it, and that's what makes this hurt so much. That's what confuses me so much. Harvard has been my dream for as long as I can remember, the fuel that's fired me to work hard. Those dreams are just as big a part of me as Chicago is now.

I know that if I was to seek advice, I'd hear those patronising words: "you can't throw your life and your dreams away for a boy."

I groan, throwing myself backward onto my bed, confused and worried, terrified.

Can I give up one for the other? Because ultimately, that's what it comes down to. Can he ask the same of me? Does he even want to?

I applied for Northwestern too, though I haven't told Edward. A Chicago college ...

His life goes on as though there isn't a dark, ominous cloud hanging over us. He hasn't asked, and I haven't said. We're ignoring it, and I know no good can come of that.

There's birds outside, I can hear them calling, and for a moment, I allow myself to be as free as they are; flying high above the dangers and hurdles of the city, gliding through the clouds without a care, weightless and … soaring, nothing pulling them down.

He's waiting outside, a smoke loosely held between his lips as he smiles at me, hair erratic, his upper body bundled in more clothing than usual.

The kids pour into the old building behind us, excited; it's Christmas Eve, and despite their hardships, they're joyful, so full of cheer.

"Hey," I greet, ducking under the arm Edward is holding out, reaching up to kiss his jaw.

And just like that, my worries disappear. For now.

He pulls me closer. "Hey." The feel of his lips against my head makes my eyes close instinctively, and my arms tighten around his waist.

"You ready?" I ask, motioning towards the youth centre.

He snorts. "No. I fucking hate it in there."

"Be nice," I warn lightly, smiling, chuckling when he shakes his head, as defiant as ever. His hair is long, and I like it. It falls over his forehead, and when he sweeps it back, it stays there, enough length to hold it in place, but it falls forward slowly, right back to where it started. Rebellious, just like him.

He grips it a lot. I think the length annoys him, but he hasn't done anything about it. I told him a couple of weeks ago that I loved it, and he's left it as it is. I like to think that maybe he has left it because I like the length, and the chaos.

"You got any plans after this?" he asks, stubbing his cigarette under his shoe.

"Nope."

His smile grows to mirror my own.

"Pizza?"

I nod. "Absolutely."

He kisses me quickly, once, and then again. "Just gotta get through this shit first."

Slapping his chest, I narrow my eyes teasingly at him as we push through the doors. "It's not shit," I argue. "It's good."

He doesn't argue, but his face conveys his disbelief.

For two hours, both of us keep to our own side of the room, our eyes meeting briefly, the strong smell of aerosols burning my nose. Edward looks exasperated more often than not as the kids hound him to do more, use more colours, make more art. I smile as I watch them, taking my time to go over calculus with the two girls sitting at my table. I'm attentive to them, but my eyes find Edward more often than they probably should.

Being here is calming. I take solitude in helping these kids, and I enjoy it. I wish I could do more, but with school, and life, and worry, my time is limited.

For two hours, I forget about the decisions that haunt me. I forget that in a short, few months, I might be leaving, saying goodbye to everything here I love.

For now, I can immerse myself in that love, in Chicago, helping those less fortunate than myself, Edward, the purpose I feel teaching the kids that surround me, Edward, making a difference however I can, and … Edward.

Packing up my supplies, I smile at him as a young boy hounds him for more help, more advice about spray paints. Edward looks like he's about to snap, but to avoid that, he ignores the exuberant kid, which only widens my smile.

My Inferno, grasping at his hair and tidying up after a load of kids who have no idea who is teaching them.

They love him, and he doesn't even try to endear them to him. There's just something about Edward that's intriguing and cool, effortlessly so, and the kids idolise him. I hate him for that, but I don't, because I love him.

I even admitted it to my parents last week. Dad was not pleased, but mom was. She knew apparently, and she knew he loves me too, because according to her, he's just as obvious with it as I am. She was all smiles, unbiased in her happiness for me.

I appreciate her unfaltering support, I need it right now. I think I always will.

Edward's Christmas gifts sit heavy in my purse; I'm nervous, anxious about whether or not he'll like them.

"Come on," he says as I wave goodbye to Tony, wishing him a Happy Christmas.

We walk in silence, Edward's free hand holding mine, long fingers wrapped around my much-smaller hand. He doesn't second-guess himself anymore and it makes my heart flutter. In his other hand, a large pizza box.

It's a typical Friday night in the South Side; I move closer to his side, he reassures me silently. A few drunk men stubble through the street, one singing to himself, the other mumbling as he passes, eyeing me too closely, quickly diverting his gaze when Edward asks him what he's looking at.

It's cold, my scarf thick, my free hand holding my jacket closed against the chill that bites at my cheeks. Looking up at Edward, I wonder if he's immune. His breath swirls in clouds as he breathes, so I know he's cold, but he's still only wearing his leather jacket with a hoodie underneath.

"What are your plans tomorrow?" I ask, again … I asked him a few weeks ago and he changed the subject.

He shrugs. "Vic, Laurent, Alec and James are coming around."

"Have you got anything planned?"

"Beer," he answers, snorting, as though it's a stupid question. I don't say anything else, scowling to myself as I look at the ground, my shoes as grey as the concrete below. "Old Carl is eating with Tony." He adds the last part, but doesn't elaborate. I guess that means Tony isn't catering for Edward and his friends.

I worry about him, and what he'll eat; his friends and the influence they are, but it's not as though I can say anything, it's not my place, I don't think. I don't know. The thought of Victoria in his apartment, spending Christmas day with him and laughing, smiling, joking around, fills me with dread and jealousy. But still, I say nothing, trying to be the bigger person.

I want to ask him to spend Christmas with me and my parents, but there's no way he'd subject himself to that again, and my dad would be livid. I'd be responsible for ruining two people's Christamses.

His apartment is warm, for a change. I raise my eyebrow in question as soon as we enter.

Edward smiles softly as he throws his jacket onto the sofa. "I hoped you'd be here tonight. Can't have you getting cold unnecessarily."

"Thank you," I say, smiling, leaning up to kiss his lips, melting into him when he pulls me close, returning the kiss, deepening it, releasing a calming breath through his nose.

"Hungry?" he asks, breaking away, leaning down to kiss me again quickly before I can answer.

"Starving."

"Good. Sit down, I'll sort this," he instructs, motioning to the pizza in his hand and walking towards his small kitchen.

It's moments like this that make the worry worth it. He's so sweet, so tentative, so affectionate and open with his love. I hold on to these moments, using them as fuel to get me through the day.

He drops onto the sofa beside me, making me laugh as he hands me a beer and struggles to keep the pizza box upright.

"Tah dah!" He waves his arm, announcing the pizza, confusing me, but making me laugh harder. I look down at it, and instantly choke on my own damned saliva.

"Is that?"

He nods, his smile wide and proud. "Turkey, cranberry, stuffing …"

"It's a Christmas pizza."

"Yeah … it's the best I could do," he says, suddenly looking sheepish.

I move, leaning over the pizza, kissing him softly. "I love it."

He watches closely as I take a slice and bite into it, moaning, teasing him, making his eyebrows hitch.

"So good." It's not a lie. It shouldn't work, but it does. It's delicious, like a burst of Christmas in my mouth, but it's pizza too and that's always a win.

He blows out a breath. "That's a relief. Tony thought it'd be fucking disgusting."

I chuckle and shake my head, waiting for his reaction as he takes a bite. He doesn't look too impressed, but he eats it anyway.

We sit close, sipping beer and munching on festive pizza. His apartment is cozy, for once; the small tree I bought him twinkles in the corner—his only Christmas decoration. He rolled his eyes and told me it was stupid as I decorated it with tinsel and lights last week, but later admitted he loved it.

It's the first year he has ever had a tree over the holidays, and it breaks my heart.

"Can we do gifts now?" I ask after my third slice of pizza, sufficiently stuffed. My legs kicking over the arm of the sofa as I lean my head back to look at him.

He nods and jumps up from the sofa, disappearing into his bedroom and appearing with two wrapped gifts, placing them on the coffee table.

I reach over into my purse and place his two gifts between us.

We're silent, watching each other, not knowing who should make the first move.

"You go first," he whispers eventually, reaching over for my gifts and handing them to me. I turn, crossing my legs and facing him. He looks nervous, achingly so. I reach over and clasp his hands tightly, smiling softly, trying to assure him that no matter what he got me, I'll love it.

Because I love him.

The first box is long and thin, rectangular, and I stare at it for too long, laughing when Edward nudges me.

"Just open it," he grows, exasperated. "I'm dying here."

Pursing me lips, I send him a wary look and tear into the gift wrap, quickly unveiling a long cushioned box. I'm holding my breath as I snap it open, my breath hitching as soon as I see it.

Shit.

It's a necklace, rose gold and delicate, so beautiful that I can hardly breathe. There's a white gold paint splash on top of a rose gold splash and it's dainty, and symbolic.

"Oh my god," I manage to say, my voice nothing more than a whisper as I trace the thin chain with my fingertip. "It's beautiful."

I hear him exhale in relief behind me. "Yeah?"

Turning to look at him over my shoulder, I bite my lip, nodding. "I love it. Thank you." I lean back into him and he dips his head, granting me the kiss I'm silently asking for. My heart is thudding and I want to put the necklace on right now.

He obliges when I hand it to him and move my hair out of the way, letting his fingers rest lightly in the back of my neck as I look down on it. Thank you doesn't seem good enough right now.

"There's one more," he whispers into my ear, his voice so unsure.

The next one is heavier, and instantly, I know it's a book, but it almost feels too cushioned to be a novel of some kind. Curiosity wins, and I tear into it, letting the leather-bound journal fall into my hands. It's well worn, so perfectly aged and clearly used. When I look at Edward, he's biting his lip, looking at the journal so intensely I almost worry about what's on the pages inside.

But that doesn't stop me. Slowly, I flick the first page open and instantly, I'm crying, silent tears that scorch my skin and feel heavy. I can't speak, I can't look at him right now.

The first page is a dedication, written in thin marker, Edward's elegant scroll so familiar to me now. It's so openly beautiful. It's everything.

My Bella ...

My fire,

My flame,

My muse.

My light in the darkness,

My brightness.

My everything.

My love,

My always.

Your Inferno.

He's sketched his signature mark next to his words, his flame, the stamp of Inferno.

When a quiet sob escapes my lips, he wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder as I turn the first page, and then the next, and the next, my tears never faltering in their constant flow.

It's filled with sketches. Delicate, light sketches of me on rooftops; in his kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt; in the open, framed by the city and the darkened night sky. Some are more detailed than the others, some are abstract, a couple are sketched with markers, but most with pencil or charcoal.

"Say something …" Edward's voice trailed off, strained and achingly vulnerable, like one tiny movement could send him running for the hills.

"This …" I struggled for words, nothing in my mind or on the top of my tongue doing any justice to how I truly felt right now. "Edward … this is the most beautiful thing."

I felt, rather than heard, him exhale as he hurried his nose into my hair, his forehead against my shoulder now and his arms so tight around my stomach.

"It's the best gift I've ever received and … I'll cherish it forever. Truly." The tears were still falling from my eyes, so pure in their honesty. I don't know what else I can say, verbally. So I spin myself and grab his face between my hands, forcing his head up and his eyes to meet mine. "I love it. I love you, so much it hurts. Thank you."

And then we were kissing, hot and heavy, messy and filled with so much emotion neither of us could breathe, and neither of us cared. His hands gripped my hips tight, pulling me closer.

I held the sketchbook so tightly, so close to my heart, letting us rest between us.

We kiss until our lips are bruised and we both can't do without air anymore; foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing.

"I love you," he tells me, his voice low and raspy, and so tempting that I kiss him again, slower this time, softer this time.

With shaking hands, I give him his gifts, biting my lip, worrying that mine pale in comparison to his.

He looks at my briefly, smiling mischievously as he tears open the first, laughing lightly when he notices what it is. "Did you know?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

I laugh. "I had no idea, I promise."

He hums, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he studies the leather-bound journal in his hand. I got it elegantly engraved, with flames and brickwork. He opens to the first page, his eyes scanning and reading what I've written there.

"Great minds," I whisper and he smiles, leaning over to kiss me.

"I love it," he says into my mouth.

"I'm not very artistic I'm afraid, so there's no sketches."

He shrugs. "Just means I can fill it. This"—he points to my written words—"is much better than any shitty drawing anyway."

"Hey!" I whine, prodding his ribs, but laughing along with him. He reads it again and again.

Light a fire they can't put out,

so I'll always know where you are.

You're my roaring wildfire, and I'll always love you,

just the way you are.

Bella x

He kisses me, again and again. But doesn't realise I've littered the journal with quotes throughout. They'll be a surprise as and when he finds them. I think I prefer it that way.

His second gift makes his smile so wide and laugh so loud that I can't help but join him. It's stupid, but it's also not, and I know he loves it when he flicks through the pages reading eagerly. When I saw it online, I knew it was perfect for him. It's one of those obnoxious coffee table books, Rooftops Of The World, and it's filled with large, glossy pictures of rooftops and tiny snippets of text highlighting where in the world they are.

We snuggle close as he flips through the book, pointing out which rooftops he wants to visit. Our tangled legs dangle over the arm of the sofa, my head on his chest as I watch the pages turn and listen to him talk animatedly, rubbing the necklace that lies against my throat.

It's perfect. It's everything I want and could ever hope for. Me, Edward, his rather pathetic twinkling Christmas tree, and the South Side as it quietens down for the night in anticipation for Christmas.

I smile softly, pulling him closer and breathe him in, his soft hoodie under my nose and against my lips, his heartbeat against my ear.

"Let's go to bed for a while," he whispers, kissing my head lightly. "I want to kiss every inch of you and make you scream my name before I drive you home."

My whole body comes to life, the blood in my veins igniting and suddenly I'm no longer languid and sleepy, I'm so very awake.

"Best Christmas Ever!" My following scream is high-pitched, and I laugh loudly as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, carrying me to his bedroom.

A/N

Thank you for reading!

Thanks also to the girls in my Facebook group for being so damn supportive all the time! I love you all!

If you'd like to join, search Facebook for LozzofLondon Fanfiction and the group should appear, like magic.

Until next time, stay safe!