Hope you enjoy

At about four in the morning, there's a restrained knock at my door. As you may have been able to tell, I'm an irritable little cow when it comes to sleep and so I barely even answer. The knock is persistent.

'What?' I breathe, avoiding the lamp light by hiding my fluffy head in my bedsheets.

'I wondered if you wanted to go paint the sunrise?'

Man this guy is a fairy-tale.

'No.' I say, burying my face once again. The sting of light is burning my eyes.

'Are you sure?' He asks, disappointed. He's still hanging around the door letting a chill in.

'Yes.' I'm still half asleep, I want him to be quiet before I throw something.

'It might help with the whole new world theme they want going on?' He suggests, whispering because some of us are still fucking sleeping. Those blue eyes are on my back.

I'm still in tracksuits and an old t-shirt from yesterday. I didn't even bother getting changed because I'm that gross of a person. But I can barely be arsed to take that into account. My eyes are no doubt purple in exhaustion. I finally lift my heavy head and look at him with tired bloodshot sight. He looks a little shy like he didn't want to wake me. But he still did it. Great choice. Well done you.

'It's been done a thousand times.' I murmur, surprisingly lucid considering how dead I feel.

'Ah right, yes, sorry. Of course. Just thought I'd ask…'

It's damn thoughtful, I should be appreciating the thought behind it and stop being a lazy so-and-so but Goddamn, I need several more hours of unconsciousness.

Though he's still lingering about.

'Cullen?' I've closed my eyes again, still picturing his posture behind my closed lids.

'Hmm?'

He hasn't moved from my door; his weight will be against the frame still, hands in his pockets in that all too well known 'rogue nerd guy' image. He's waiting for an instruction.

'You can sit down?'I say obviously, concealing an amused smirk in the cold side of my pillow.

'Yeah? Er- Thank you, I mean. I just thought. Well. I'll better leave you to sleep.'

'I'm awake now.' I yawn, the words barely being more than sounds as they tumble, without direction, from my mouth. Just. And not through choice… Notice the anger behind it. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don't ever wake up a girl unless you can help it.

'Barely,' he replies, laughing, still unable to simply wander back to his own room because he seems to have found something that has caught his entertainment. Maybe he's bored? Maybe he's lonely? I don't give a shit- I just want to be warm and asleep.

'Offer still stands,' I remind softly. I really don't know whether to be thrilled that he's a real gentleman or damn right irritated, just close the Goddamn door.

Just like yesterday, I think he's about to leave but then my bed squeaks a little as he shifts in behind me. He tries his best to make as little movement as possible when he settles down and kicks off his shoes from over my ankles. My surprise is obvious and I simply have to open a crooked eye to prove that he did actually choose to join me.

That and he was that ready to help me out, he was already dressed by four in the Morning. Four. Did he even go to sleep? He's sitting up in my bed, clearly too wide awake to go back and sleep and already sort of dressed looking as if he's prepared to simply wait.

Typical him.

'What the-?' He sucks in a breath and removes the offending item from beneath where he's sitting. When I open an eye properly to look at him I see he's holding the bottom of my vibrator, looking ridiculously pale as he, essentially, sizes it up. I can't tell if he's blushing or stuttering though I'm enjoying both suggestions.

While this is another very funny image, I can't even bear to acknowledge it right now and so I only let out a small giggle. I'll give him this: having his weight and his warmth in the bed is genuinely comforting and it's really not long before I'm walking along to dreamland again.

When I wake up properly, I'm in a good mood. Which is one hell of a surprise. I unwrap myself from my cocoon of blankets and stretch into a downward dog and upward cat or whatever the hell they call it.

'Morning.' He greets, not lifting an eye from the book in his grip.

He's got a knee up, the other one pressed flat against my own leg. His head is resting against his hand which is placed against the wall just above the bed railings and with the other, he's turning the pages of the book he has resting against the knee.

All he needs is thick spectacles and he'd be a perfect 1950's husband.

I look closer to the title. It was the book I had on my bedside table. I really must be in a great mood this morning because I'm laughing already.

'Thrilling literature,' he murmurs, frowning as he reads on.

I guess thrilling is kind of correct.

'What bit are you on?' I ask, trying not to snigger in his face. He's doing better at concealing his entertainment.

'They've just come home from the boat house.' He sighs, snapping it shut and placing it back into its usual place. My my, what a raunchy bit and does he seem interested?

Of course he doesn't. He seems wound up.

'I really thought you would have better taste.' He mutters, fighting the smile. He pinches his eyes shut and rubs them. I've had an extra six hours sleep. I've slept for a good eleven hours and I'm feeling very well rested. Very well rested.

'Had to see what the fuss is all about.' I reply shrugging.

I'm not embarrassed because it really is a book that I am not a huge fan of. Sure, there's elements which naturally get your heart going and your knees melting (i.e. the boat house scene) but the characters are assholes.

'And?' He asks.

'You tell me, what do you think so far?'

'I think its horseshit.'

Did I mention he doesn't swear much? Because even though he just has, I'm laughing even more.

'You can't judge it by its cover.' I say smirking.

He picks it up again and shows us both the front: Fifty Shades of Grey in a harsh font. We're both critiquing it. It's boringly unoriginal.

'You're right but after twenty chapters in, I've decided it's ridiculous.' He's still smiling, pouting a little. We rarely read the same type of book, more because he busies himself with his textbok, so I'm glad we have this to now delve in to. Though I'm equally as frustrated that he's decided to give up at chapter twenty after reading for so long.

How fast of a reader can the Saint be?

'Go on…' I encourage.

He doesn't even look tired whereas I know for a fact I'm a huge mess, I feel it all over. I'm wondering if it's inappropriate to ask him to massage my back? Maybe.

'Why is it hot to get touched up in the middle of a family dinner? Isn't that just disturbing?'

I'm laughing. He's charmingly playful.

'And what the hell is with the ball things? One minute, she's ... inexperienced, next she's shoving metal up there?'

'I can relate.' I joke, shrugging my shoulders carelessly.

He plays his part well. That smart mouth of his falls open.

'I'm joking.' I explain quickly before he does faint on me, 'it certainly is a little crazy…'

'Who takes their girlfriend to meet the parents and then has sex with them on the same property? The stress of being caught...And the whole selfishness of it? How can you refuse someone the right to-'

Orgasm is what he's trying to say. But he just can't come to it. Ha.

I love the fact that he's wound up. It means in a roundabout way that he's as frustrated as the book wants to leave you, even if his crotch doesn't adhere. It's also hilarious he's still as ridiculous to think about manners as a guest, too.

With my thoughts busied, I can't forgive the fall of my eyes to his crotch. Fearful he's about to catch my hunting eyes, I put them back to his face.

As ever, nothing to see.

I snigger. 'Parents only see what they wanna see.'

'Not all parents.' He corrects but we both know we're not referring to either of ours. Last time I saw my mother, we had a huge argument and she called me a slut. My father who I adore to pieces, died several years ago. Hence why I've travelled away to go to college.

He thinks about what I've just said and jumps to conclusions. He's thinking I had sex in my parents' home (which isn't as crazy as it sounds) but the thought still seems foreign to him.

'You didn't?' He groans, closing his eyes and looking away.

I'm no Ana Steel and my family is certainly not rich enough for a boat house.

'Yes I lost my virginity in that house.' I explain, he sighs a little relieved. 'I'm not saying that I'd suddenly shack up with whoever in my old bedroom though, that's pretty weird.'

Especially when I'm ninety-eight percent sure, I still have some nineties posters in there. No one wants to look up from whoever they're with to see Baby Spice glaring at you…Perhaps this is why I found myself in some parent's bed on Saturday…Ew.

He shudders. 'God, just the very thought…' He makes a face and I laugh about ten times harder.

'We're all slaves to our desires.' I tease. 'I guess you'll realise that on Friday.'

He's clearly forgotten because he frowns at me.

'Tilly's coming round for coffee?' I remind him. Who has coffee in the evening?! Bleh.

He makes a face. 'Oh right, yes. It completely slipped my mind.'

Of course it did.

'Speaking of parents, did you ever get back in touch with the guy from Saturday?'

I'm annoyed he's mentioned it. I never normally do so I don't know why he's asking, I think it's a weird way of trying to question if I planned to do more than hook up with the guy. Which is an obvious no surrounded by barbed wire.

'You really don't get the concept of a one night stand, do you?' I mock, combing my hair out of my face.

'No it's just that…someone keeps leaving a message on the answer phone, I'm going to assume it's that guy?'

I didn't give him my number.

That means it's only one other person.

Shit….

'Did you answer it?' My voice sounds a little nervous.

'No, it was like a text message sent to the answer phone. Didn't leave a number.'

I gulp. 'What did it say?'

'Thinking of you…' he quotes, nudging my side playfully. I let my face fall to the pillow and groan.

I hate men!

Or most men!

I wouldn't be opposed to a certain few men on top of me all day everyday however….

'What?' He doesn't understand. He's still smiling and because of how crazy he reacted yesterday, I don't want to spoil his mood. Or mine any more than I have to.

'Just boys!' I complain.

'Those who play with fire get burnt.' He says, sticking his nose in the air like the Saint he his.

'Hardly a fire, let alone a spark more like a blip before it faded…'

He stops for a moment. 'Is that some kind of reference to your lack of sexual appetite?'

He really is innocent.

'It's more like a reference to my appetite and their lack of service.' I reply, daringly. He laughs shortly, though his cheeks are pink. He's not well accustomed to my flirting…if you'd call it flirting.

'Remind me to never get on your bad side.' He sighs, watching as I detangle myself from my duvet.

'Honey, you couldn't get on my bad side if you wanted it.' I really am pushing the borders of friendship. His smile falters a little but he snaps it back in place.

'Is that another-'

I sigh. 'Yes!'

There's a pause until we both laugh.

That's a weird thing to think about. It's surprisingly comfortable having him in my room, like it's just me and Alice having a girly chit-chat but this is far more raunchy and far more entertaining. His reactions are better than Alice's would be too.

And he's not as rude.

'Did you want any breakfast?' he stands up, he's clearly hungry and hasn't eaten. Especially not if he's got that far into the book already.

I shake my head.

'Sure? I'm thinking we could go for a hike later?'

I roll my eyes. 'You and your exercise!' I retort. Though a hike does sound fun. He's smiling, waiting for me to change my mind. 'Sure.'

'Well great!' We both seem to be ignoring the fact that his enthusiasm is a little out of character. 'I'll see you down stairs then?'

'Thank youuu!' I sing as he closes the door.

Despite the awkward answer phone message that I have yet to greet, I'm feeling genuinely happy. So much so that once I'm showered, I grab my camera and head downstairs.

Edward has lessons today, which you can tell from the way he's left his notebook over the piano. Clearly forgotten it in the rush. While I am in a good mood, I'm also still myself so I take a flick through it to see what he's written about, obviously not caring too much. And as suspected, I've hit the jackpot.

He's not an amazing artist but he is good. He's doodled little animals in the back of the book followed by drawings of Bella. She looks very beautiful but also a lot less shy, braver and bolder. I couldn't never imagine her as such.

No offence to the girl obviously.

'Spying are we?'

I take the bowl from his hands and quickly thank him. He's looking over my shoulder to look at the drawings.

'It's sweet he thinks of her in this way. She was just shy and sort-of bumbly when I met her….' I explain.

He moves the paper to take a closer look.

'It's still her though.' He's looking at the colour of the mouth, how he's shaped her face.

'Hardly.' I mumble, trying to conceal my patronising snort of laughter.

'He's just drawing what he sees.'

Now he's not just a Saint, he's a bloody romantic, too. Give it a few hours and he'll be writing romantic poetry on a lake.

'Or what he wants?' I correct.

He sighs. Ever the sweetheart, our Landlord.

'Maybe it's the kind of lesson that you should adopt….' He suggests.

I just stare at him. He's worried that the words have offended me. I'm more surprised.

'You think I should paint what I want?' I say, doubting him because I'm not painting Bella so help me…I painted what I wanted for the last submission and it didn't get me very far.

'No I think you should paint something that only you see. That's individual to you, almost…'

So when did he become the art expert?

My mind wonders. It's a nice idea really, and it would surely catch someone's attention but the idea was one thing… I couldn't think of anything I could see in a perspective that other people saw differently.

'It's a thought,' I say taking a spoonful of breakfast. It's weird, we haven't done anything and I'm already glad I called in sick…I feel better already.

He sits in the armchair where he usually does, listening to this morning's news highlights.

It's been a long time since I've had breakfast and as good as it tastes, it makes me feel automatically heavier. But he has put honey in the yogurt for me which he knows I like.

He's catching up on the weather which is meant to be good for the rest of the day, I'm just hoping I'm not going to bump into anyone on our way there. Knowing my luck, I'll run into Tilly who'll tell my boss and I'll be in shit…

'Where are you thinking of heading then?' I ask, chewing slowly on the dried fruit. It almost looks colour coordinated in the bowl…another thing I like to do with my food…

He shrugs. 'Well we could either go through the Western heights to the cliffs or drive on and head through the valleys?'

The Western heights is nearer the sea, the valleys are back towards the canal and by far an easier walk. But I'm feeling good.

'Clifftops.' I decide. He's already finished his food and is holding onto the bowl, waiting for me to finish… He has a long time to wait. Like usual his portion sizes are double what I usually nibble on. But he has made an extra effort so I try my best to be grateful.

'Are you sure?' I hate when he does this. He thinks that because he does shit tonnes of exercise and the rest of the world doesn't, that we'll all struggle up some hill or whatever.

'Of course.' I say quickly.

'It is considered a mini mountain…' He reminds me.

'I know!' I say defensively. He decides to leave it (good choice) and lets me eat in silence while flicking through another news channel.

His father is on the news again, but he flicks straight past it without even a seconds glance.

'No, go back!' I demand through a mouthful of food, pointing to the TV in excitement. He sighs and changes the channel before heading into the kitchen to avoid it.

I listen to the report.

'He's building another church again.' I call into the kitchen.

'Is he now.' He sounds uninterested, a little grumpy maybe.

The woman on the news is raving about how much of a good person he is. He doesn't look anything like Carlisle. Not really. Maybe the same pale skin but that's literally it. You wouldn't be able to tell they're related.

'For an orphanage apparently?' I continue, greedily taking another spoonful. It's yummy and I'm suddenly hungry.

'Very nice.' He's very blunt.

''For the work of God' or something,' I quote, reading the headline.

He doesn't even answer me, just buries himself in the washing up.

His father is asking for religious artwork and paintings to help bring about the love of God in a time of war and destruction. He's saying that God wouldn't have wanted the world this way and that we need a war to end all wars. We already nearly had two of the damn things. He's saying that if the Western culture doesn't act now, God will smite us all.

The channel is picturing him as some fantastical prophet who has all the answers. The report ends with him saying that we'll all pay for our sins unless we don't act immediately. 'Ignorance is a sin'. He says, pointing to the camera.

Back to the studio, the three panellists are praising his faith at such a time in our world. I've surprised myself by eating my whole bowlful but now my stomach hurts a little.

My saint is mumbling into the sink.

'Crazy old murderous fool.' he growls, splashing the water carelessly.

'Hey now,' I say softly, passing the bowl to him and then drying up the stuff on the drying rack. His jaw is tight, he's grinding his teeth together. 'You keep saying that and people will be thinking you have daddy issues.'

My voice is too soft. I might be in a good mood but I'm never this nice.

'Daddy issues?!' He repeats, disgusted.

I laugh heartily at him.

'I do not have daddy issues!' He protests.

'Suuure,' I sing, nudging his hip with mine, he's literally biting his tongue, glaring at the ceramic bowl.

'What does that even mean?' he complains, flicking a few of the soap bubbles at me. They float to the floor aimlessly.

'Oh you know!' I say. 'Like, people would look to me because I have sex a lot and say I have daddy issues.'

'Your father died?' He says frowning.

'Exactly, daddy-issues.'

'What?' He thinks I'm deliberately winding him up.

'Meaning that I'm accused of looking for love in the wrong places, trying to replace the fatherly bond.' He looks somewhat bewildered but his anger has softened.

'And are you?' he asks, frowning, ever the curious one. His curiosity saved him on many occasions.

'You tell me; I'm the one having sex with my boss.'

His laughter falls silent.

'That's not funny, Es.' I couldn't tell you why but he looks annoyed again, his blue eyes are squinted as he washes the bowl though it's perfectly clean.

'I was actually speaking about the garage manager… but there you are.' I'm still in a good mood so I take things lightly and lock away those future concerns for a later date.

'So are you looking for love?' He persists. This is probably also a technique to get away from the awkward topic, which I can relate to. He doesn't look at me when he asks, he looks out the window into the garden, scowling almost at our tree. I can't read him.

'If I am, I'm not doing very well!' I say laughing.

He doesn't say anything until slowly a smile grows.

'No, of course not. I'm in my twenties. Love is the kinda thing I forget about until I mourn my chances at thirty-nine!' I tell him.

He rolls his eyes and passes me the wet spoon from beneath his arm to dry in my tea-towel. I'm sitting on the island now, I jumped up just a moment ago and am now appreciating his back, those shoulders though I know I shouldn't be.

Bless those shoulders.

'What about you, you're older than me. Are you looking for love?' It's barely the afternoon and we're suddenly having some deep conversation… another unexpected perk of getting to know him.

I'm only watching at the back of his head but I know he's smirking.

'I'm not looking, no.' He says playfully, eyes glowerng into mine before dropping to the floor.

I don't catch the hint.

'Daddy issues!' I say laughing, he cringes.

'My father's still alive.' He corrects grumpily. 'And I'm not looking for anything let alone in the wrong places.'

I nudge him with my foot. 'You're twenty five and have yet to have a girlfriend.'

He sighs but he's smiling again. He turns to face me, spreading his arms along the counter as if he needs to hold his balance. That's fine with me, it gives me the excuse to gorge on his hard work.

'Alright, in the last four years when did you last have a relationship?' He asks, looking gorgeously smug.

Ha, that's easy! It was with...

'And I'm not talking repetitive hook-ups…' He adds, raising an eyebrow.

Balls. I could've again said the Garage Manager. That sure came to a messy end. But relationship? It never was.

'It's not exactly the same, is it?' I grumble. He's ruining my fun.

'Look how the mighty fall.' He teases, throwing a cloth at me, I catch it before it can hit me and dry my hands with it before throwing it into the washing basket.

Ey! Score!

He's still waiting for an answer.

'Alright what about M..M…damn. Whatshisname?' I say quickly, waving my hand as if to follow the thought.

'Michael?' He offers, I click my fingers and nod.

'You never called him back. If you remember?' He says, looking proud.

Goddamn him and his observantness.

'Well, you're hardly going to call Tilly back on Friday, are you?' I retort, taking a deep breath.

All he can do is offer a blank stare. It takes at least three seconds for him to remember and he cringes slightly at my amused 'disaproval'.

'I can't say for sure!' He tries to argue. 'In fact, I'll call back either way…'

'You'll find her more irritating than I do.' I play. I shouldn't play, I should be helping the guy out. Yeah, go Tilly. She'll be all over you. Wreck the girl.

'How mean of you, poor Tilly….' He's playing his own game now as he sniggers.

'Alright, do what you want, give her a quickie just don't come crying to me when she goes all stalker-gurl on your ass!'

'I'm sure in that scenario, you would be the last person I would turn to for help.'

'And why is that?' I question, watching him carefully.

'Because you're you and you'll end up getting me in more trouble than it's worth…' He says clearly.

He has me there, I'm not good at relationships. Look at the marriage I'm accidently ruining because of my weirdo boss.

'Anyway, get your shoes on, I wanna be out of here by lunch.' He taps my ankles before running off to go make up a back-pack.

Definitely no longer flatmates, I decide watching his ass.