Here's a lengthy chapter for you all- I hope you enjoy. Paitence is a virtue, all will come to a head in the long run :)

Thanks for all your support and I will be ever so grateful if you continue to share the love and post your thoughts ;) Thank you!

When I get home after a crappy and thoughtful drive Edward is resting on the sofa breathing softly. He's looking grumpy but I put that down to the hangover and the fact he hasn't trusted himself to eat anything yet.

My keys and bag are launched to the coffee table so that the noise accidently wakes him. I fall onto the space next to him, throwing my legs over his and trying to stay quiet when the material pulls against the mess of my thigh. His green eyes watch me carefully.

'Long day?'

'And a half,' I add, yawning. And it's not even over yet. Great.

He nods before noticing my wrist, then the nodding stops. His eyes enlarge and he looks like he's about to shriek.

'What the heck happened?'

'Huh?' I look down to arm. It looks bad, really bad but then it's nowhere near as bad as my thigh so I don't really have room for complaint. I don't say that to him. 'Oh, I burnt it…'

In fairness, he's never been good around blood and stuff, but it really annoys me when his whole posture goes rigid and he tries awkwardly to lean away from me, taking the comfort of his company with him.

'What with: lava?!'

'Don't be so dramatic!' I chide, flicking out the arm to expose the mess more clearly under the light. Even I shudder this time. 'Look, it's just a blister.'

'Yeurgh! Don't come anywhere near me with that infected shit!' He yelps hysterically, ripping his legs from under me and practically leaping over the sofa arm like I'm some sort of rabid animal.

This is how I know whatever happened in the coffee shop has really fucked me up.

Edward's only joking (kind of) and yet I genuinely feel my face well up emotionally. I never cry and yet here I sit, holding in the Mariana Trench behind my 'brown' eyes... , all the while he looks disgustedly down at me. Though that disgust snaps to concern when he realises my glum expression.

'Es?' He's as confused as I am. But he knows for some dumb reason the words have upset me. Upset me?! What the hell?! They're just words! Jeeez, you would've thought I'd been drugged or something. Edward upset me? The fuck?

''M sorry,' he says, gently placing an arm on my shoulder. I automatically flinch and we both look at each other, me watery eyed, and him alarmed.

'I'm in a lot of pain,' I lie, indicating my hand. But is it a lie? My chest hurts like hell right now so does my insides and my wrist and my fat-ass thigh. And yet again my sense of dignity, too.

His rigid posture loosens up and he nudges his broad shoulders against my petite one to get me to look at him.

'Why don't we just go to the hospital? Get him to check it out?' He coaxes gently, still keeping a watchful eye for whatever unpredictable move I'm going to pull next.

You don't even need to guess who he's talking about. It's the first person the both of us run to in an instant of total shit. He's pretty much our guardian. But I've already demanded a little too much of him today, I'd imagine he'd be pretty much sick of my face by now.

I grimace. 'Nah, I hate bugging him at work. You know how stressed he gets when he sees us there.'

It's like fire meets gasoline at the local children's orphanage.

'Only because he worries, you know what he's like. Come on, let's go,' he knees me so that my legs rise up gently. 'Come on.'

I groan but, because he'll be a little bitch otherwise, begrudingly follow.

Because Edward's a wimp and acted so dramatically about the arm, I decide not to mention the whole loss-of-skin on my thigh, so the car drive is silent apart from my coughing exhaust pipe and groaning wheels. He mentions about getting Rosalie to fix it up if I ask Emmett but A: Blondie and I aren't exactly BFF's, B: I can't afford it and C: I love my car, broken bits and all. Even if it does turn a five minute journey into a twenty-minute one.

I'm right by the way. Carlisle is fine until he sees us.

He's in a group of other doctors, but he looks the tallest and the smartest, dressed in easy green scrubs, his long white jacket filled with the contents of a stationary factory and dirtied grey trainers instead of his suit and shoes (there's an issue there but I'm sure he'll address it later). He's holding a clipboard, listening to another student question the patient and offering a better diagnosis without being critical. It's quite impressive. Just how he can focus so easily and put anyone at ease without even looking at them.

But judging from Tilly, he had that kind of effect on a few people. Me included.

He casually looks across to see the time above the wall just by where Edward and I are cringing and his relaxed face turns first to confusion then to real worry. He's as white as a ghost and looks like he's going to faint as the clatter of his clipboard dropping to the floor sounds out. Hastily, he reaches to pick it up before staring open-mouthed at us until his attention is called away again.

I'm feeling really weird this evening so the first thing I do when I see him is look away and head to the front desk. Part of me was hoping he'd be in surgery today, damn!

'Oooh! That's a nasty burn!' The receptionist notes, nodding at the welted mess. She hands me some forms to fill out and we go sit in the waiting area, arguing about my pretty handwriting and various other pointless things.

Because it's just a burn, I'm hoping they'll just get a nurse to fix me up and while me and Edward wait, Cullen uses every moments pause to catch a look at us. I'm hiding in my hair, dreading his concern.

'Miss Platt?' A nurse says, smiling joyfully when she sees me stand up.

Edward follows behind like a guard dog but he's stopped at the curtain and told to sit back down. It's not like the guy likes blood anyway so he nods skeptically and takes a seat, offering me an encouraging smile. I take it.

'I'll be fine!' I lie, panicking about how much pain I'm going to be in and if it's going to be worse than yesterday. Which is an obvious yes.

I sit uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, feeling somewhat nervous though I'm not really sure why… probably just fearing his judgement...which is dumb as hell but I'm feeling pretty crappy at this time.

'Oh, that's a horrible burn isn't it!' The nurse says kindly, fussing around with the blood pressure thingy and squeezing my arm to death.

If it's really that noticeable than why was my co-worker such a dick about it?!

'Uh-yeah.' I say, embarrassed, holding it up like a limp twig. She's a nice lady, older and reminds me a little of my mom…if my mom was 30 years older, brunette and actually remembered who I was.

'Oh, Dear!' she sighs, sympathetically, stroking the part of my arm that isn't burning.

I think I smile but it feels more like a fidget in the face.

'Yes, I'll definitely have to get a doctor to check this over for you.'

Agh, shit. I don't need to give the guy a heart attack.

'Would you mind if the students come and observe?' she continues.

Yes, yes I would mind a lot. That is the type of shit no one ever wants to agree with, just fix me up and chuck me out.

'No, of course not.'

It takes a second or so for me to realise that these were my words and not her randomly talking to herself… fantastic.

She pops out for a bit while I panic about how on earth I'm going to cover this crap up and with what excuse to avoid judgement. An older guy throws back the curtain followed by three random people and Carlisle. When I first look at him, he looks really jittery but when he turns to the side I realise he's freaking out again.

'Any volunteers?' The old guy asks the group. He's got a nice blue tie on which softens his stern looking face. I like that tie.

Cullen coughs and raises his hand, delicately, his pink ears sitting in stark contrast to his light hair and lighter skin.

I told Edward he would freak out when he saw us! My actions aren't helping either. Ridiculously, when he offers the blue eyes of wonder, I give him a quick hand wave that he doesn't address properly. That makes me feel great. Thanks.

'Really Doctor Cullen? Surely you have had enough of the frontline for today?'

'Not at all!' he says quickly. I'm genuinely grateful because if he's being so eager to jump in then he's trying to make it an easy situation for all of us by not letting the bunch of 12 year olds falsely diagnose me.

The old guy, I can't read his name badge, chuckles to himself and gives him the go ahead.

'Hi…' I greet shyly.

'Miss Platt.' He's so professional that I have to crack a smile even if he can't.

He asks all the right questions before spotting my arm, he's gone a little white again (he'll be translucent in a minute) though I don't know why because I'm always doing stupid shit like hurting myself.

'What happened?!' His voice sounds funny and then he realises we aren't alone like we were yesterday and coughs to clear it. 'Err, I mean how did you burn your wrist?'

I haven't and I won't mention about the thigh.

'At work.' I say quickly. This gives him three choices. The oven, the kettle or the coffee machine, let's see what one he picks! His blue eyes flit to the group and then back to me. They soften slightly when I smile.

'Coffee?' He can smell its bitter sting because I can still smell it, that and the area of skin has kind of tanned a little.

'Yep!' Ding, ding, ding. He's fighting the urge to roll his eyes but smiles sympathetically and asks to take a closer look like the professional he is.

It doesn't take two moments for him to diagnose that the burn is mainly 1st with some 2nd degree and how to deal with that appropriately. His mentor is watching him just as proudly.

'Okay team, that's enough for today. Leave that to the nurses, Cullen.' The man says, dismissing the other tired freshmen and clapping a hand on Carlisle's shoulder.

'No worries, Sir. I can finish up here.' He smiles sheepishly and the man watches the both of us skeptically. He probably recognises who I am, I've been in here enough times, and is no doubt worrying over the legalities of him acting as my medical suitor.

'Are you sure? You've had a long day.'

The old guy seems nice but I know what he's thinking. He thinks we're more than flatmates and that something weird is going to happen behind the cubicle curtain. Pfft, hardly. At times, we're barely even flatmates and I'm sure he'd agree when I say he wouldn't voluntarily go anywhere near me and vice versa in terms of romance and/or attraction. Yuck… Maybe yuck? Like a gentle yuck.

He smiles tightly.

'No, I insist.' Thank God, here's to hoping he grabs some sort of morphine to knock me out of it all.

'Hmm,' the voice is testing but still kind. 'More fool you…'

My tight lipped flatmate releases a tight lipped smile. Until the curtain closes of course, then I get a mouthful. What the hell happened?! Why didn't you come in sooner?! Are you okay?!... And all that stuff. He's frowning so hard, his face his going to break.

'Ah, ask your girlfriend.' That same weird tone from earlier has returned. Pffft, barely girlfriend if the only date he'll be having with her is a family drinking session.

He softens his expression again and raises an eyebrow, refusing to rise to my bait.

'She spilt it on me earlier.' I explain with an awkward shrug.

He sighs and shakes his head at me before holding his hand out for my arm and getting down to work fast and smooth without any pain surprisingly. His hands are so gentle I don't feel them move…A lot like yesterday really.

'Where else got burnt?'

Okay, now I totally give it all away in wondering how the hell he worked that one out.

'How'd you know?'

Oh. Okay. Looking at his face he didn't...great.

'Liquid splashes.' He shrugs. 'Where else are you hurt?'

I grimace.

Not only do I not want to tell him but to repeat, I chose the wrong kind of underwear today. I know that it doesn't really bother him since I shoved myself in his face yesterday but now he's confirmed that not only does he have an interest in girls (fuck ugly ones), but that's he's also able to act on that interest…things are in an unusual spot.

Should I be teasing him? Goad him up for a real date? Warm him up, maybe?

'I don't want to tell you.' I'm such a child.

'Why?' He asks, curiously.

'It's embarrassing.' I mumble back, hiding once again in my fringe.

He sighs and raises his eyebrow again. It's very persuasive…

'More so than yesterday?' He asks enchantingly. Normally he's more impersonal and a lot more polite. I'm starting to wonder how bad this 'bad day' was for him.

Though he has a point.

So I willingly unbutton my slacks and he's nice enough to not even look at my underwear, his eyes go straight to the burn but that's only once I tell him he can turn back around.

'Jesus, Es. Why didn't you say anything?'

His voice is softer than feathers. He's worried how much pain I'm in which is surprisingly zero considering how I'm still kind of worked up about whether I still have my job and what I need to do to keep it.

I shudder.

'Cold?' he asks.

'Err, no just…' The thought of explaining sounds just as painful '...Yeah. Yeah I'm cold...'

I sigh because it is partly true. Without hesitating, he shrugs out of his doctor's jacket and rests it on both my shoulders. It doesn't do a lot in terms of heat but the gesture is nice enough that I start to relax a little. Especially with our washing powder flooding my nostrils.

He leaves for a second or so to get a tiny little trolley table and a seat and then asks for my permission to treat me. He asks for my permission? Honestly, I can't tell if he's just frightened of women or a fairy-tale character.

He frowns like he does when he's working or at least when he's working on me and delicately glides his rubbery hands over the area.

'Why do I always end up around here?' he murmurs to my thigh. It helps me to relax and I laugh because it is genuinely funny.

'So, what happened then?' I'm watching his face, its super entertaining and it's taking away from whatever pain is left.

'We to perform a tracheotomy on 2 year old.' He says We. He means I.

'Oh God,' I gasp. He appreciates the gesture. 'Was she okay?!'

'He was fine…eventually.'

I don't really know what to do so I just pat his shoulder, rubbing it a little. I'm the least comforting person I know.

'We also nearly killed a middle aged lawyer.' He complains, his cooling breath nicely wiping over the burn. This time when he says 'we' he means 'they' but he's too much of a good person to abandon the sinking ship of blame.

''Nearly''. I quote, confidently. 'Not quite.' I say.

He looks out of the corner of his eye to find me smiling and copies.

'No but she did go in a coma for three minutes. We're luckily she's not brain dead.'

His tough day at work is making my day look like kids games. I don't know how to fix this, I just want him to feel better. Far less stressed.

'You know, I also got someone's number today…' I say delicately, wanting to hear him say anything because his woeful expression is making me feel even worse. That's the one thing about having perfect teeth, it makes his whole grin gorgeous.

This has him smiling, mainly because he suspects it. He and Edward sometimes take bets over how many numbers I can get in a day. My winner was six.

'Well done you.' He says brightly. 'Please remember you shouldn't act on it for thirteen days.'

'I'm planning on not acting on it.' I retort with a sigh.

It super easy to forget how easy it is to talk to him and forget the fact that I'm this ridiculous shit of a human. This causes interest. He looks up to me with a puzzled look.

'Anyway, I can go thirteen days without sex easy considering you've gone twenty-odd years.'

He chuckles and the sound does wonders for his mood. 'I'd say ten years.' he amends with a shrug and at my confusion he explains; 'Well, no one is going to be having sex at eight, are they?'

True.

'Anyway, who's the unlucky guy?'

The words sound potentially harsh but I know he means unlucky because I clearly plan on not giving him the sex he wants. Whether he actually gets it though is a different matter…

'My boss…' I mutter silently.

He closes his eyes and sighs loudly.

'Shit, I'm sorry.' He doesn't swear a lot because he is a saint but it's comforting that he recognises that this is the kinda language I'm needing at the moment. Plus hearing him swear is always good fun.

So much more thrilling.

I'm completely undeserving of his sympathy. He talks with no judgement for me when surely after two bosses now on my tail I've got to be doing something wrong. I'm starting to wonder what'll happen if I tell him about the pants/underwear thing... but that's too far and did anything bad happen? Maybe I'm overreacting? I just want to forget about it. Pretend it never happened.

'What are you going to do?' He asks, focused on the task at hand. I sigh with no complaint as he wraps my thigh for me and then my wrist.

'What do you think I should do?'

He's the smart guy, he'll know best.

'Maybe find another coffee shop?'

Well that's out the question… Stupid boss ruining my job, giving me pet names I don't want. Eurgh!

'Weird question.' I announce distractedly. 'What colour are my eyes?' I ask suddenly. I don't want a pet name and if it's a pet name stuck on something I can't change then I'm really in the shit.

'You don't know after twenty-three years?'

'Well I can't exactly look at myself to check, can I?'

Realistically, I could just use a mirror. However when looking in the mirror, about 98% of the time I'm distracted in seeing what my hair looks like to even focus on whether I have eyes let alone the colour.

He doesn't even look up when he answers, he keeps his eyes and hands on bandaging my blistered skin.

'Forest colour, why?'

I'm mildly surprised he doesn't doubt himself.

'That's hardly an answer!' I whine.

'You're the artist!' He defends, muttering about second degree burns….

'Well, what kind of forest? In what season?'

He raises his eyebrow but still doesn't look up, maybe as a test to himself. I'm not sure.

'A Summer-time forest. They're mainly green with flecks of mud brown.' He tells me. Okay…I was not expecting that…

'What kind of green?' I persist. This is a test now, mainly because I can't tell myself.

He's laughing, still focused on his work. 'A lighter murky green when you're in the sun but a darker woodland green when you're either focused or stressed.'

Do I now that much about his eye colour? I can't imagine so….

'Murky is hardly a colour…' I say, watching his face.

He sits up and finally looks at me, squinting slightly. 'Would you like to see?'

He's scrutinising my eyes now and probably the inflamed skin around them, checking them again to confirm himself. I don't ask what colour they are now, I'm too amazed in his confidence. And so I tell him I don't need the mirror he's offering. Besides., he's observant enough that to get something wrong is unlike him and to disbelieve him is foolish.

'Are you okay?' He asks slowly, words dripping with concern I don't want to think about.

My stomach tightens into tight, zip-wire thin knots and I deliberately do my best to act impatient to my leg.

'I'd be so much better had I not been scolded.' I dismiss cleverly. He takes his cue and quickly returns to easing my pain.

Let's say this; I am more than relieved they're not just brown. I'm also kinda fascinated he knew this without looking at my eyes to check. I kinda want to test him on everyone else's eye colour but now isn't the time.

'You're good to go.' He moves his chair from me like he did last night and turns away from me so I can pull the rest of my pants up without being watched.

'Thank you.' It sucks that this is a regular thing for him, touching me in places he doesn't want to touch.

'I've got to grab my stuff before clocking off. Fancy coming with?'

It's a ridiculous thing for him to say because I'm twenty-three not five, nevertheless, I'm intrigued. I love seeing the layouts of different places and exploring somewhere I technically don't have permission to be sounds just as pathetically exciting.

'Hell yes!'

He tightens the coat on me and does up the buttons, before leading me to the staffroom as if I'm a doctor here. Edward says nothing when he sees us walk past, giggling slightly and it's quiet enough that no hospital technician either notices or gives a shit.

The staff room is crap and I love it. There's loads of tall lockers about waist high stacked on-top of each other against the wall, a long blue sofa, kitchenette in the opposing corner and a mirror by the cupboards and one behind me.

'Quaint.' I admire, looking around the place. It's a better staffroom than most.

'I thought you'd like it.' He smiles, opens his locker so that it blocks him from view and drops a few bottles to his feet.

'You have a shower in here?!' Why on earth is he taking shower gel to work?!

'Of course!' I can hear him, laughing. 'Why do you think I run to work?'

I sometimes forget he's a real human with human actions because he's genuinely so perfect. In fact as I look for the bathroom in question, I'm about to make some stupid comment addressing this when his green shirt of the scrubs falls to the floor.

Like I said, I'm not the good person he is and because I'm weird as hell and the unknown is interesting, I watch his reflection in the mirror unbeknownst to him.

...

Holy Shit.

I'm annoyed he doesn't usually undress in front of me. Tilly is right, he's athletic as hell. There's a new kind of pain I'm feeling now. Like a kind of ache to touch him because…just…ugh. What the Fuck is going on?

His whole torso looks like it's carved from the Gods. He's sculptured beautifully, every inch of his pale arms defined into exact shapes until they reach his delicate hands. His chest and back have me feeling flustered now in the nude. I want to reach out just to test if it is really his own body or a mirage. Every mark and every curve is a deliberate teasing act, muscular and toned well with small patch of wispy chest hair on his front. I can only oblige to the demand of my eyes, letting them take in his shaped ribs and hard stomach followed by a perfect line of blonde hair trailing beneath his belly button into his pants, encouraging the eyes below.

I feel light headed but can only stare, silently begging for him to get naked.

'Are you alright?'

Shit. I take a noisy gasp, feeling far too warm and look away guiltily. He's putting on aftershave and the shirt from breakfast.

I sadly mourn the sight goodbye.

'Yeah?' I clear my throat to try and make the squeal less concerning. I'm sweating so badly right now… 'Why?'

He laughs and it sounds so melodic I'm resisting the urge to step closer. Who the fuck knew Cullen was... well, a fucking God?!

'You gurgled?' He explains, kinking an arching eyebrow at me.

Urgh, I'd arch myself like that. All over his fucking mattress, those shoulders heavy on mine, the washboard of abs rubbing along my spine.

Huh?

'What?' Gurgling?! That's embarrassing… 'No I didn't!' But my thick throat is saying something else.

God is it hot in here? Does it feel hot in here? Its so hot in here...

In fact, the heat of the room hits the roof when I see him drop the scrub pants. I'm gorging myself on the view from the mirror. The locker is tall enough that I can only see the top of his combed hair and from his mid-thighs down so I'm thanking every possible thing in sight for the discovery of reflection.

His ankles are gorgeous, the calves that they go into are thick, as strong looking as this Morning but agile following the knees up. I'm trying to tear my eyes away from the mirror but to stop would be the largest injustice to man.

It's insanely difficult holding any kind of vocal appreciation in, by hell I do so, just to allow the beauty of perversion. So I follow into his thighs, thick, beautiful strong thighs tightly encasing a perfect contained package.

Jesus Christ, that ass is firmer than exotic fruit.

Ten. This is my ten. He is my ten. He's beautiful and agile and thrilling, not over built like Emmett and still quite slim but nonetheless a complete joy to be gazing at. A perfect ten…

How has he kept this artistry hidden for four fucking years? I mean, I knew he was hot but what the fuck.

I'm actually drooling. In fact I'm hot all over. All up my back, in my neck, in the nicer areas of my downstairs. The only things that are cold are my nipples and they are as erect as I want him to be.

Then the unthinkable happens. He hooks his hand into the waistband of his Calvin Klein's and pulls them off in a swoop...

Jesus, Cullen! What's with the sudden nudity?!

I want to, Oh God I want to do it so bad, but I don't look. I keep my eyes on the floor, staring at his underwear trying to fight the lump in my throat and being unsuccessful.

I jump about ten feet when he whips his head around the locker door.

'Are you sure you're okay? You're making a lot of noise?'

Just fucking take me on this floor right now.

'Huh?' I gasp, my heart palpitating with desperation. I was the new weak Wicked Witch of the West and I am fucking melting.

His eyes are so gorgeously blue I drowned in them long ago.

'You.' He addresses, laughing. I don't see him do it but I know from the way he's fidgeting that he's pulling up new underwear and the tracksuits from this morning. I'm strangely sad.

I could sob right here and now.

My Lord, Vegas would pay him millions.

Remember when I said we are slaves to our eyes? I'm no exception. I am not just a slave, I am a goner. He could have asked me to shoot myself in that instant and it would've been done.

I'm shaking ever so slightly and my effort to hide it is making it worse.

'I take it you're driving?'

The slam of the metal seems to bring me back to reality or part reality, I can't stop staring at him which is really awkward because I don't want him to know I was just perving on him but I also want to know how long I've been wasting my life by not looking at him.

God Esme, that's your flatmate. Cullen is nerd. Just a nerd. A Pretty nerd…that's it leave it there, no more…

Oh man, I want him so bad.

Oh God, no. No I don't. Not at all…it's just rare you see someone who takes care of himself that well…that's all I'm admiring. Just his body, nothing else. I'm not attracted to him, just the body.

'Yes.' I say quickly when I realise I haven't said anything in a while. 'Yeah, yeah, I'm driving.'

He gathers the suit he must have been wearing before and I can see from where I'm standing it's got a lot of blood on it. He chucks the scrubs into a washing basket one handed, holding onto the boxers and throwing them into the same bag with blood on.

'Did you need me to take anything?' That makes me sound really perverted but I was actually referring to his backpack.

'It's cool, I've got it.'

I've only just calmed down (and not in heart rate) when we pass Edward in the waiting room. I'm hating on his presence. I'm hating on all their presence. I just want to go home, curl up in bed and use my trusty friend.

It's a wicked thing to think but it's so true…I'm wondering if this is the sort of thing I keep to myself or if I should tell Alice so we can admire it together… but Alice isn't single.

What the fuck is wrong with me?! How can I be this hot for Cullen?!