Thank you so much for your amazing reviews! Please do not fear the word count as I keep doing. I'm convinced it's still lying. Nevertheless, here is the start of many revelations... and perhaps some new beginnings, too!

Hope you enjoy! Please R&R! Thank you!

Needs to explain to me? I lean away from him, raising my hand to my warm mouth as if to question my rashness but he smiles weakly at me and inhales.

'What about?' I ask carefully, frowning.

His expression is far worse than whatever he might have to say. Or that's what I'm telling myself because I am not ready to hear Alice's 'I told you so' run through my head. He goes to reply, starts to speak before hesitating and throws his weight to his back. I stay very still. He opens up his right arm, looking at me carefully before smiling one-sided.

'There's almost too much to-.' He stops again to test out his nerves. They're making his words tremble and I know he's not comfortable with it. 'I think I need to go back a bit…' The smile does it. I trust that more than any other impression he's giving so I lie back, too, head turned towards him.

'Do you remember when we were hiking last week and we were talking about-'

'Edward?' I offer.

'No. We were discussing-'

'Sex? Languages?' I continue to guess.

'Es, please. Let me finish?'

I smile wryly, shrinking from him but he laughs gently and inhales.

'Well, my father and I travelled a lot when I was young, mainly for educational purposes. He was a pastor and worked to…enslave people into the concept of religion…'

'But you're a Christian?' I say, confused. This is one of the first conversations I know we did discuss early on, it also explained the cross I had seen rarely on his person though more often than not, on his desk. I shake my hair out a little, shifting my shoulder underneath his arm. He's taking his time to plan his narrative.

'I am.' And he almost looks like he wants to say more. 'As I told you, we travelled around until I was about six- where we came to Italy. It's difficult to explain but where we lived... I guess it was like a devout church that also ran as a business?'

Being unaware of the path he's leading me down allows me to smile supportively, absently touching his knuckles and checking for damage. He shows no discomfort and little regard to the marks along his skin as he opens up his hand, allowing me to warm it between both my palms. He can scarcely imagine what it felt like to watch my hands encompass his own. He couldn't possibly answer to the way my joints moved spontaneously to align against his skin. Or the way the smoothness matched with the dryness of his palms made my diaphragm waver like I couldn't hold my breath.

In spite of that, he still held his hand to me. He still let me explore the details in gluttony and he never surrendered his observation. When he continues, he regains he control of his hand and while he doesn't steal himself from me completely, I'm consciously aware that he is likewise not as comfortable with my touch.

'Essentially it was this beautiful cluster of buildings closed to the public on the outskirts of a city called Volterra. My father worked with the brothers who ran it and they struck up some sort of alliance. One from which the details, I was kept hidden from...'

I nod, huddling close again not due to the cold but because his tone is soothing and informative and he's gentle with what he's telling me.

'Where I lived was very strictly catholic. I grew up in what we referred to as the West-Wing which was a block where women were forbidden. It was beautiful though, saturated with art and in every place you looked.'

'It sounds incredible.' I murmur. His eyes crinkle a little and on my encouragement, he gently squeezes his grip in a vague answer.

'He- my father- worked from the early morning to late evening six days a week. I only really saw him at communal dinners and on Sundays. And the rare occasions he was in his office, which wasn't much.'

'So you've always been pretty distant?' I assume, guessing that here might be his point. He nods.

'Well, close to where our rooms were located was a huge natatorium- a swimming pool as you know. Serene though strictly prohibited to the public.' I did know and yet I appreciated the way he both referenced my interests and signalled it with something more than just appreciation. 'Being the only child on site, I was often left to amuse myself and had been permitted use of it on the strict reminder to be careful; There was no one around to keep an eye on me. It was quite deep though on the bottom there was a beautiful mosaic of the Virgin Mary which was always difficult to see properly from above the water.'

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

'This might sound irrelevant but I promise I have a point.' He murmurs, his words little more than an amused whisper. They jump a little, splintering off like flecks of dry sand except the majority of what we were laying on was damp. We were moulding our stances into it as if carving our name into wood

'I'm listening, Carlisle.'

'Okay, good. So this swimming bath was huge and completely private but according to what I was told, and some very believable written accounts, I was lead to believe that the water had been blessed. To swim in it while clothed was an act of defilement. You understand?'

'Continue.' I encourage.

'So from the age six to thirteen I swam in the nude. Clothes were forbidden within the room and because it was empty, I had no qualms about using it daily. A few weeks after our arrival, once we were settled, I was given a few responsibilities to undertake, like chores really. The West-Wing was the accommodation for the diocese and they often had a lot of gear to put on, particularly for liturgical purposes. Various flowing garments which were tricky to tie and adjust. We lived by very old standards.'

'So it was like proper medieval monk stuff? No television or anything?'

He looks as if he might want to prove he's amused but his speed he picks up serves to prove how fleeting his thinking is. Nevertheless, he smiles.

'My point, exactly. We did have a television but it was situated in the communal quarters and only broadcast the news strictly from the Vatican. The city was very old fashioned. The books in the library were either old folios or religious material that had been specially censored by the Brothers. My lessons were the same. The reason I'm more fluent in Latin is because that's what we spoke. We did mathematics and history and such, again in Latin but science was- well I'll come to that…' He breaks off gently to let me speak.

'You make it sound like you grew up in a cult.' I tease awkwardly, laughing just so. He tilts his face towards me, very still, his blue eyes so rich in information and-.

'Oh, 'I utter. But he hurries along.

'So I was sort of like a 'court dresser'. I'd wake early in the mornings, swim, dress our neighbours, go the market and attend lessons. This being followed by dinner in the hall, prayers, work, sleep then the same cycle the next day. That's how it ran for years.'

The stones I'm leaning on are typically very uncomfortable but the sand is helping to cushion from of the pain. Opposite me, he seems as relaxed as he would be on a bed. He's speaking over the sea air without having to raise his voice. He's gentle and careful though his expression is determined.

'By the time I was eight, I knew the city inside out and excusing one of the Dining Staff who I occasionally spoke with and perhaps Elizabeth Masen, I hadn't met a girl in years. Especially not one of my own age. Even in the literature we read, there was more emphasis on the likes of purity than on procreation. Women were not...' He pauses momentarily to look at me, semi-shy before asking: 'Are you getting the image I'm trying to show you?'

'Super heavy.' I confirm. Essentially, I was practically a commodity to him. A souvenir. Was it incredibly unfeminist of me to enjoy the suggestion? To like the way I created materialistic value to someone as rich as Cullen? He smirks and returns naturally.

'Like I was saying with the swimming pool: The mosaic when you looked at it from the top was all distorted and I assumed the only way you could see as it's truth was if you swam right to the very bottom of the pool. I was an ambitious nine year-old and planned to catch a real look of it.'

'How deep was it?' I ask, apologetic for the third, forth or possibly sixth interruption. He doesn't seem to mind. He squints, pressing his free hand to his forehead to think.

'About three to three and a half metres down perhaps?' He sees my eyes enlarge. 'I know, I was very stupid.'

'You could've been killed!'

He nods his head. 'I was convinced I'd trained myself enough to achieve it…'

'And?!' I ask, panicked.

'Chill, Es. I'm here, aren't I?'

'What happened?' I encourage, gently pressing into his chest with our interlocked hold. He looks at it with moderate surprise, waits and lays his head back to stare at the surrounding dark.

'I passed out before getting to the bottom.' He murmurs, adjusting himself so that I can lay more comfortably. 'But when I awoke, I was surrounded by three to four of the clergy men I dressed on a regular basis, barely breathing.'

'It was lucky they found you.' I remind him breathlessly and then I remember that he would've probably been mortified at the exposure. 'Even if it was embarrassing.'

He winces slightly, I feel it under my body, his instant reaction to guard himself before forcing composure. His hand briefly stiffens too and then, like being unwound from rope, he relaxes.

'See, every morning when I went for a swim, I used to go for about an hour at least. Guessing from memory, the morning I'd decided to go diving, I'd undressed, jumped into the water and probably passed out within five to six minutes. An adult, if lucky, has around twelve minutes of air in their lungs when knocked unconscious.' He pauses to allow me to make a show of my confusion. 'I was nine, under water and most probably panicked once I realised I couldn't breathe.'

'So someone else decided to join you?' I assume, my cheek pressing against his shoulder, close to his face. He seems weirdly familiar with the space, like he might curl an arm around me to secure me there. He doesn't break our hands apart.

'As far as I was aware, not really... It was 'blessed water' and in the three years that I'd lived there, I'd never seen another soul use alone approach the room. Nor even for baptisms. Needless to say I moved on and once I'd gained my trust enough to go swimming again, aged ten this time, I decided I would try again to reach the bottom. Being older and wiser and all that.' He adds playfully. He breathes in, not on purpose but maybe to emphasise a point he doesn't yet want to say. 'As you may assume, I passed out again and woke up a little while later: exposed and surrounded by the same men from last time. I was scolded, reminded to be careful and stayed away for an even longer period.'

'You don't-.' I cut myself off. 'If this is uncomfortable for you, you don't need to tell me...'

'Would you like me to stop?' He asks and once more, he's genuinely concerned for how I'm feeling. I shake my head.

'No but I understand if you wouldn't want to-' I start to say. He cuts me off delicately.

'At the very least, I am positive this will explain many of our past misconceptions? I'm also hoping that it means that… we won't be what we were?'

'What do you mean?' I ask him, naturally cautious.

'Well… I guess apart of knowing someone is knowing their past?'

'If Edward's said the same bullshit-' but he interrupts my cursing with a gentle laugh, turning slightly to press a cold and unexpected kiss my forehead. It makes me shiver. Only because I want another one. I want to hold him tighter and kiss him and make him feel relaxed.

'But he is right…' He says.

'I hate that.'

'Me too.' He agrees though he works to amend the target of my death sentences. 'I want you to hear this, Esme. If you'd like, I mean... I want to explain myself?'

'Carlisle, you don't have to explain anything.'

'I know.' He murmurs. 'I think that's what makes talking to you so easy. It's never just a case of need. I always want to talk to you.'

'Does Edward know about this?' I inquire warily. 'Is this why he's been on my back?'

Carlisle shakes his head, his thick hair slipping behind him and grinding into the sand as he sighs again. 'Not all of it. Though I wouldn't be surprised if Elizabeth has informed all she knows.'

'Oh...I almost forgot about them.' I admit, guiltily. He doesn't seem fazed as proven by his smile.

'The only friend I had was four years younger, forbidden to enter my home and I only saw him in the summer.'

'But then-'

'Would you like me to continue?' He guesses. I nod, emphatically.

'I think you need to.'

'So well-after the second time, I tried again. I was suspicious and couldn't understand how after everyone's denial, I was still so quick to be rescued. So after my third attempt they took me straight to Aro, who was kind of like my father's boss. I woke up this time in the hall where a great panic had ensued because of the water in my lungs. Of course, the men accused me of trying to kill myself, a huge fuss was made and Aro sent me to my father who was equally as furious.'

'Wait? Isn't suicide a sin in some-?' I begin to say but I feel his body move in the affirmative. Feel it.

'My father went nuts, banned me from barely leaving the room and for punishment, I missed a few weeks of school and worked day and night as an assistant to the court. I tried to explain myself. It didn't work and I was soon getting hourly gruelings from every priest on sight. One evening, I was helping one of our neighbours by writing up a few sermons with him from some old anthologies. As I opened one book in particular several Polaroid's fell out of the pages. I can't say for sure who they were of, but as I was the only child on site and at that, the only blonde child-.' He stops when he sees my face. 'Do you need a minute?'

I nod, pulling myself up out of his space to put my hand over my mouth. To crave the isolation and curse his ease at the relaying of information. He follows, pulling himself up so that he's opposite me, watching concerned with a detached hand on my shoulder, his knees bent though supporting mine.

'How old were you?' I choke out weakly, feeling even more nauseas with the smell of sea water stinging my nose. His expression manages to secure my worst fears- that they weren't innocent photos.

'About Eleven.' He reminds me, quietly.

'And in the photos?' I gasp. He pulls his jacket off his shoulders and wraps it around me, zipping it up with a two steady hands and not flinching from his exposure.

'Take a few moments.' He encourages, and it's exactly how he might offer advice to his patients; as warm and as considerate.

So I do. I take many moments, angry, disgusted, frightened moments and then I see his face. He's perfectly calm, the sea of blue far more calm than the waves across from us. Both waves are useful and I practice losing my breath to them, hearing the roar in my ears and matching it with an exhale.

'Okay.'

'Sure?' He asks. He's now only in a blue button up, my bag positioned like a pillow for his head and his stubble even darker than it looked earlier. He waits for me to nod before starting again.

'I'm not sure about the photos. I only saw one or two at a glimpse. The moment they fell out, I was sent away. Anyway, this was one of the rare occasions my father was in his office. I went running to him to try and explain what I had seen and he was very defensive. I think more out of fear for what it meant for us. Not that I knew, but he was making a lot of money and very comfortably and although he morally sided with me, or that's what I like to hope, he decided the risks were too great.'

'The fuck?!' I enunciate. This is a matter he doesn't want to wait on.

'So I got to thirteen, somehow, and worked hard enough to be granted permission to swim again.'

'Did you actually take it up?'

His face flickers and he alters the beginning of his next sentence.

'Well, I decided that I couldn't cope with the guilt of suspicion that surrounded my every survival from drowning. I'd quite forgotten about the mosaic on the fourth time round and decided not to undress. The point was that I was getting to the bottom and I would swim back up and I would be fine. I passed no one on my way there, there was no one in the room and yet I was seconds from diving into the water when 'security' found me and sent me straight to the boss.'

'Again?' I ask. He assumes I mean 'sent to the boss' though I actually mean trying to swim. It's raising a few flares of concern but he's calm and I don't want to destabilise this.

'I tried to argue that the water was colder than usual but they knew I no longer trusted them and we agreed that I wouldn't step foot in the pool again. I no longer had to help people get dressed though. I was hitting puberty anyway, I was taller and instead, I was allowed to work closely alongside Aro on his accounts.'

'And that was the end of it? What about the Masen's? What about anybody? What about you?'

'Well, that's a slightly different story. I officially met the Masen's back in France when I was three and then again in Spain during the summers until they came to visit in Italy. It started as a friendship I think, maybe a bit of friendly anxiety from Elizabeth but I got the impression that my father and Edward's were working together. Mr Masen is a lawyer, a renowned and very clever man who was defending the business against some claims that another business associate had made on account of corruption.'

'I'm lost.' I admit, guiltily.

He smiles apologetically, his free hand fiddling with a stone while the other stays outstretched. I haven't been brave enough to lie against him again so I just lean at an angle towards his torso. As though a shield to the water.

'Senior was sent by his firm to question character profiles. Elizabeth had a bit of work as a travel writer I think, and at the point that I'd met her, I hadn't really seen a mother figure in years. Our fathers got along, perhaps for need than fraternity, on a case of political debate and business schemes I think, too. Further Elizabeth was very musically minded and my father thought it good that I pick up lessons. So for the few weeks they visited in the summer I was allowed to stay with them and practice music. It was great fun and when I didn't see them, Elizabeth always kept in contact.'

He sighs fondly, appreciatively though distantly.

'It's part of their influence I am where I stand now. At thirteen, I decided I wanted to attend a local school. My father refused and gave a list of absurd reasons why; the usual moral corruption argument and I voiced the same preference to them. With their help, we managed to persuade my father I was missing out on an official education, which was needed if he wanted me to follow in his footsteps as a pastor. Probably due to the fact he was uncomfortable with my ability to find trouble, he agreed to let me attend the local catholic school.'

'You got your way?' I say, amazed.

'To some extent.' He murmurs, sounding sharp. 'The difference in curriculum still caused a rift at home. Several arguments broke out because of it. Stupid things like how I'd taken a fervent interest in science. He was disgusted and planned to reenlist me at home so that I couldn't be 'corrupted' any further. Aro tried to calm him but, well, I didn't help myself. Neither did the Tutor's. I went to a boy's school and though a lot of them were from the same strict background I was, others weren't. We'd been doing a lot of sculpture work and my book had been mixed up with another students who'd…embellished his portrait of a nude Mary Magdalene. I don't think I heard the end of it for the rest of the year.' He laughs as though it's a fond memory but I'm desperate to reach out to comfort him. 'You remember I said I was brought up on the expectation that I would be 'pure'?'

I nod encouragingly, too captured in his narrative to want to speak.

'Well. That went under negotiation. Aro struck up a deal with my father and rather begrudgingly, he accepted in an attempt to halt any further trouble.'

'Meaning?' I ask. He breathes in again, his chest full of air that he slowly lets out through his nose.

'Please believe me that had I realised the importance of the next sentence, I would've mentioned it before?'

I watch him, carefully, once more concerned. He continues as though he might be discussing someone else.

'Overtime, time that I had not been prudent enough to notice was in fact a plot, l was introduced to one of Aro's nieces; Chelsea. The expectation was something trivial, tutoring her in certain gospels, admittedly I don't remember. Nevertheless, I guess you can presume we became quite close. Or as 'close' to as a teenager would in that environment. Once we became friends, a deal was struck between Marcus and my father that once I was of age…we would be married...'

'What?'

He nods, carefully.

'You were engaged?!' I demand, verging on hysterical.

So much for inexperienced?!

He nods again. 'When I said I was close to someone, she was the closest I had to a girl friend- realistically-'

'Girlfriend? She was your fiancée! Jesus, how old were you when this was arranged?!' I can't curb the bitchy tone to my voice though I try to reign it in. He continues despite it.

'Fourteen, possibly. She was older by maybe a year or so. My father seemed satisfied by the union though as time went on, changed his mind. Eventually we were moved closer to the center of the building and though I worked incredibly close with the brothers, we were still quite miserable. Since joining the court my father had taken a vow of chastity, and I can only assume he was somewhat…lonely. Cut to fifteen years of age, technically a year or so away from marriage and I'd left the room for a moment-. The rest you know.'

'Wait, hold on, your father after committing himself to 'purity', slept with your fiancée?!' I ask in disbelief. Carlisle smirks.

'As hard as it is to hear, please remember that my definition of fiancée is different to how you know it. I didn't learn anything about the anatomy until I was seventeen. I had no clue on sex apart…'

'But- but?!' Words are failing me.

'As you might have guessed- huge scandal. I took the opportunity to dive into my acting skills and tried to convince my father to leave. He'd put across this big act of self-sacrifice. He said something like, because I can't procreate, I would be needlessly offending the Church by fornicating and having sex not for the purposes of pro-creation was a sin. The matter of my sterilisation he claimed was proof of purity and he wanted me to stick to that.'

'I am so lost by this Nut-job!' I admit, furiously.

'There were many other ideas as well. He claimed that because the wedding wasn't too long away, he would impregnate her before we married and then I could say the child was my own. That one obviously didn't pass as well.'

'What?' I repeat for the third time.

'It's very complicated.' He agrees. 'But it was the excuse I had been looking for and I begged for him to leave. He refused and in a moment of revenge, I trashed the shared library meaning that I pulled as many books as I could from the shelves.'

'Hence the temper, right?' Though as much as it guilts me to think it, I'm suspicious of his cautious response to this.

'Anyway, as I was trashing the books, one in particular fell from the shelves and with it a series of photographs fell out. I realised then I couldn't stay there...'

'It wasn't-' I start to say. It's easy to see by his face that we're not discussing just some simple portrait picture. My stomach lurches again. It was the same ones.

'I suspect it was.' He answers. 'So I went to Aro and gave a diabolical speech about the people I was going to contact with such a scandal in a holy place. Their second scandal in a matter of weeks.'

'Wait, you confronted them?'

'I did. They obviously denied it all so I saved money, I kept a front and the moment I'd had enough to pay for it, I ran to the Masen's. Luckily, they'd spent the last six years in Illinois and considered it their permanent residence.'

At sixteen years old, running away, moving country. I shudder.

'Es, have you never wondered how I've been able to afford so much?' His sudden call of my name brings me right back to the present and staring sympathetically at him, I shake my head.

'I kinda just assumed you worked all your life.' I muse, lifting up a shoulder. He smiles though I'm not sure why. I guess I also had no reason to question it. My own relationship to finances had been, I hoped, grounded by my family. However I was frequently aware that, like Edward, I had not lived as frugally as most children. One of the biggest issues to my father's death was specifically the financial implications left.

My mother had never been as good with that and while it led to the majority of stress and harassment between us all, I was happy to part with any and every cent for them all if it could atone even slightly for my abandonment.

Searching eyes are bringing me back to the present.

'Even though I've bought my own house? And a car? And countless other things in the last few years?'

'I've never really thought of it.' I explain, biting my lip. 'I assumed it was on credit?'

He shakes his head. 'I know it's crass to talk about figures so I won't do that but I will say there is such a big reason why I'm more than comfortable in supporting you and Edward if he needed it.'

It takes a while. Perhaps longer in his eyes but with the state of ignorance so vulnerable anyway, the realisation drops thick lumps of ice down my spine as if I'm paralysed. He keeps his focus on his hands for the moment, giving me the time to understand it all for myself.

'Because it's their money?' I guess and the thought makes me turn green, my full stomach twisting and turning in disgust. He nods.

'Mr Masen obviously helped with it all but we sued them was awarded more than deserved. It also explains why Elizabeth had a few understandings of what had gone on.'

'You sued them?' I repeat, frowning. He knows what's coming because he hasn't got such a look of pride that he'd been planning to use, he's reserved.

'Pretty much. It's probably half the reason why my father and I don't get along, still.'

'But by accepting their money- they can't be criminally charged, right?' I assume, furious, my hands knotting themselves in the jacket around my arms. I wrap them tighter.

'Technically but since I've left so have many other staff and there's a strict rule now that no children are allowed within-'

'So they get away with it?' I demand, realising that my voice is a lot harder than I wanted it to be.

'...Well… not exactly?' He protests gently but it's repulsively futile.

'But they do!' Suddenly I realise I'm hysterical. 'They knew, they all knew and they think throwing money at you serves justice?'

'Hon, it's okay-' He soothes, a gentle grimace on his mouth.

'Don't tell me its okay! It's not okay! This is not okay! They've got their freedom, they're making a profit from the damage-' The more I speak, the louder I become until sounds and words are tripping from my throat into the space around us, rushed and angry.

'Esme, look at me?'

'Can't you see how horrific this is?! Look what they're taking from you, Carlisle! Look at-.'

Despite the fact I've found myself on my feet, red, overheated, furious, I also find that Carlisle is unnaturally calm as he sits by my feet. He touches my ankle softly to ask for my attention and once I turn, catches my hand to pull me close to him again. Just how I did with him.

'Why are you okay with this?' I growl emotively and at the yelling, I find I'm even more devastated than angry. Especially now, looking into his face. He pulls me close to him, inches in space and I'm so mad, so frustrated, so disgusted and upset for him that it happens without control.

He offers a gentle frown, wiping an angry tear away from my face before pulling me into the crook of neck and letting me hold onto him. I hate it. I hate the fact that I'm just this emotional mess and I hate the fact that I've crumbled even worse than that but he soothes me warmly, murmuring over and over again how 'it's going to be okay' when I know that for him, it's not. It's wrong. In all aspects it's incredibly and morally and ethically wrong.

And they get away with it.

After several moments more of my trembling, of crushing him to me and not wanting to have to let him go, I pull myself away to breathe. It's an attempt to gather composure but it's pathetic and useless. He waits, as patient as ever, as calm as always and compassionate and decided and thoughtful.

'I'm sorry.' I murmur miserably, lifting my face to take in his expression. He's even more relaxed than I think I've seen him these last two weeks. He waves both hands to the side of my face incredibly gentle as he holds our gazes together.

'Now, I mean this with the least amount of malice but- Can you see why I can't bear to see you work at that stupid fucking coffee house?' He murmurs and several more shudders of realisation pour over my shoulders. 'I'm not willing to let you suffer in the name of independence. Any harm that comes to you-.'

'It's not the same, Carlisle. It doesn't even equate-' I stammer, snivelling.

'You're right. It's not the same because I'm not going to let it be. Taking his money is not the same as taking their worth.' He brushes his thumb across my cheeks once more to dry up any remaining tears, his touch soft but his whole presence softer. 'I won't let you be hurt. I can't. I never could risk hurting you with something I might unknowingly do and that includes this. I can't think of you being harmed and I couldn't then.' He takes a deep breath, blinking open his eyes thoughtfully. 'You have no idea of the privilege you give me just from knowing you.'

'Knowing me?' I stutter. He lowers his left hand from my cheek to hold my hand. He plays with it, interlocking the fingers until he pulls, and therefore me, until I'm holding his heartbeat, feeling the gentle rush of heat tingle my fingertips as the pulse beats under my palm.

'There are no appropriate words to explain how I feel with you. More so in the last few years and more so now. Everything is just so intense, whether I'm furious or sick with worry or pleased or nervous or-'

'Passionate?' I offer. His dark blue eyes lower to where our hands are and then back to my face, his own cheeks pink. He waits, his heartbeat thudding selfishly at my fingertips, demanding attention, begging for it.

When he sighs, I can taste the spice of the peppermint still lingering on her breath.

'After all that...' He begins awkwardly, but grinning nevertheless. 'And all these truths coming to light- I'm quite embarrassed. So if it's okay with you- I'd quite like to kiss you now and hope I don't look like such a twit?'

There's something about the way he kisses me this time which is completely different to every other one. He's simple in his approach, and though I feel him request permission in his chest, he doesn't give the words sound. Rather, he busies himself in letting his silk lips collide with mine with such surety that I lose myself to him. The nervous excitement that normally tumbles from his mouth to mine, or the juvenile questioning evolves into stable, pulsating desire. He's as committed to the movement as I am to the moment and though I'm as excited as I always am when he kisses me, this time it feels so much steadier.

He's so beautifully delicate, the same fresh cologne flooding through my nerves and because the separation is causing me heart ache, I embed my hands tightly into his thick hair, dragging him closer. I lean into him as demanding as he does to me and I shuffle forward, hesitating by his knees. He senses my caution and with a slight chuckle against my lips, he lets his left hand rest in the crook of my knee before, with a gentle and focused sense of attention, tenderly pulling me onto him with my knees resting either side of his hips.

He kisses me harder, our breaths tumbling together, his hand offering a guiding support to my thighs until his hot tongue tasers my own. I think he feels me jump, because both thumbs brush reassuring circles into my thighs while I pull myself closer to him, needing more, physically whimpering in terror of the sound.

He's not as shy as usual but he is still polite, waiting graciously to feel confident with my encouragements before sliding his slick taste buds to mine again. He has to feel the way I whine for him. Even if he can't hear it. Both hands move across his jacket, resting on the small of my back as I arch myself to him. He's warmer than before despite his cotton shirt, making me writhe against him without anything more than his breath on mine. His hands come up, stopping at my ribs before he crosses his arms around me, hugging me to him.

There's a tough sound, like he's clearing his throat as he guides us back to the pebbles. His lips are still tort against mine, moving life into me, striking a need and not caring about how tightly I tie myself to him, his hair fisted within my grip.

'Excuse me?'

We both gasp, jumping away from each other to the figure in front of us.

'Oh for God's sake.' The figure mutters fiercely and with a blush of utter mortification on my face, I struggle out of Carlisle's lap. 'Doctor Cullen…' Charlie begins, clearly furious on one hand but also somewhat in disbelief in the other as he stares at the both of us from a few steps away.

Dizzy from the breeze, from the loss of him, Carlisle stands up before me and half pulls me to my feet with a gentle tug on my hand. Unlike usual he isn't smirking or trying not to smirk, he's staying very mature and apart from how he holds me slightly behind him, I would say there's nothing about him which suggested desperate, apologetic, self-sacrifice.

'Evening, Sir.' He greets formally, nodding his head towards him though he's clearly not impressed by it.

Charlie pushes a fisted hand to his mouth, shaking his head from side to side before taking a breath in. 'We received a phone call-.'

'We understand, Officer Swan. We were on our way?' I try to say but he just simply returns a questioning look before resting a hand into his thick curly hair.

'And it looked as so, Miss Platt. We received a phone call to say-.'

'We're very sorry.' Carlisle intervenes quickly, his face still reserved and far less pink than my own.

'Really, Doctor Cullen. You should know better. At the very least the risk of hypothermia in this cold-.'

I'm clearly not aware this isn't a joke. I see his response to my gentle chuckle.

'We weren't doing anything though?' I begin shyly. Carlisle briefly looks like he want to smirk but decides against it by watching me, his eyes alight. 'We're fully clothed?' I add rather foolishly.

'Did you know it's an offence to-'

'Yes, Sir.' We both say simultaneously.

'You Kids. You realise there's hotel rooms for this exact reason? To avoid such acts in public. Besides, do you know how dangerous it is for you to be out here at this time? Who knows-'

'We're very sorry.' Carlisle says again, hand intertwined with my own as sweetly as his lips would be. The thought is making the back of my knees ant to cave again

'Where is your car?'

'Campus parking lot.' I tell him, offering a smile. He looks too tired to want to deal with it but rolls his eyes and points behind him.

'I'll give you a lift, then.'

'Oh, you don't have to do that Officer Swan-' Having spotted his expression also, Carlisle changes his tone to that of a much respected surgeon. 'Really can't thank you enough.'

'How about stop committing public offences?' Charlie mutters under his breath

'Yes, Sir.'

We walk steadily to where Charlie is parked and much to my mortification, it's the police vehicle. Carlisle opens the door for me, quiet still before he settles himself in the back next to me. From out the window, Charlie murmurs something into the radio on his shoulder, hand balanced on the roof of the car with his eyes squinted. I hadn't realised how late it was, even with the dark around us and squinting at the clock on the dashboard, I'm annoyed by the fact it's technically Saturday.

I turn to Carlisle and sigh. 'There's still so much I want to say to you. So much that needs saying but-'

He reaches over to ask for the hand that's in my lap. I pass it to him, relishing the way he locks his fingers around mine again, bridges the gap and rubs along my thumb soothingly. Officer Swan, as I should be calling him now he's in uniform, falls into his seat at the front, mumbling a few curses under his breath before turning on the engine.

'Enjoy your week away?' He murmurs and it takes me a moment to realise he's talking to Carlisle. He leans forward, testing the restraint of the seat buckle as he speaks.

'It was very informative, thanks, Sir. I've been asked to attend the fundraiser next Saturday because of it. Don't suppose we'll see you there?'

He shakes his head. 'I doubt it. Not really my type of appearance.'

'But you're the chief of police.' I say with a smile. 'It would be such a shame for you to miss it?'

He shakes his head again. 'Luckily, I think I'll be working that day. I tried to pass off the tickets to Bella but she seemed even less interested than I was.'

'Oh, she's not going?' I'm incredibly surprised by this, to start with I thought it would've been top of Edward's list. But then if his parents are there…

'No, I think Alice was mentioning about a sleepover. But that might be later to- tonight.' He corrects, eyeing the clock.

Carlisle raises his eyebrows, turning to me in question. I squeeze his hand. 'I suppose I'll see her tonight then.'

He pulls his car up right by ours in the parking lot, cutting the engine with a sigh. 'Well then, goodnight, Esme.'

'Goodnight, Charlie. Thank you for the lift.' But as we both unbuckle ourselves and open the car doors, Charlie halts Carlisle and asks for a moment to speak with him alone. I cast a look to him but his blue eyes are humoured so I tell him I'll wait in the car.

I do so, my keys in the engine, hand drumming across my steering wheel as I watch Charlie drive off. Carlisle is standing, grinning by my window.

'Evening, Ma'am.'

'Not getting in?' I ask, confused.

'How about you let me drive?' He offers and because I want to know what he's got in mind, I do as he asks and shuffle across to the passenger seat. He laughs sweetly, closing the door behind him and securing his seat.

'Well, what did he say?' I ask, he smirks beautifully.

'What you'd expect. Gave a gentle lashing, several moral warnings, too... before telling me that if we'd been thoughtful enough, there were a few huts up ahead of us where we wouldn't have been seen.'

'Oh.' I say with a smile. He's not looking my way so I can't wink at him but I can feel pretty damn brilliant about it. 'So who made the phone call then?'

He shrugs. 'Just a passing stranger, he said. Quite disgusted by the sounds of it.'

'We weren't doing anything!' I complain, folding my arms cross my chest. He reaches out to rub them, grinning. 'But we weren't! I've seen people far worse on that beach and none of them were interrupted. It's just our luck!'

'I think the concern was not what we were doing but that it would escalate, My Dear.'

My stomach flips, my cheeks burning as I return a loopy smile. 'We have far more self-control than that.'

'Perhaps.' He murmurs and once more I feel myself giggle with him.

I'm not sure where he's planning on driving to. We stop not at our street as I was expecting but rather a little further off near a cliff top.

'It's late.' He sighs, thoughtfully. 'So if you're tired I'd be happy to drive us home- I just thought a few more-.'

'This is perfect.' I murmur, rolling down the window to let the breeze back in.

'Just for a little bit longer.' He agrees softly. 'It's nice to be by the sea again.' I make a point in taking in his view. The safe capture of darkness with the water acts like a moving blanket a few miles off. It's quite gorgeous.

'I'd never imagined you to be such a fan of the water, Carlisle. Not until now.'

He smiles, softly and nods his head. 'I'm not sure why I like it so much. But I do. It's soothing.'

I watch him for the moment, patient before giving in to the flighty feeling in my stomach and crawling between the spaces of our chairs to relax into the back seat. He turns and watches me, gentle laughter evading the space.

'Comfy?'

'Come join me.' I suggest, patting the space next to me, fingering the crease of the felt.

'Need I remind you that this is technically as illegal as-'

'Not for that, Carlisle.' I sigh, rolling my eyes.

'Shame.'

Adjusting his seat, he moves to come round to the back car door and slide next to me. I fiddle with the chair in front of me before pushing it in front and resting my feet up at an angle on it. He looks mildly squished in my car and somewhat uncomfortable but smiles when I smile and nestles his head back.

'Better?' I ask.

He shakes his head, pulling himself up again to reach across to my ankles. He looks briefly at me and then drags them into his lap, allowing the space of the car for his legs to reach the foot hold. My legs are in his lap. He is holding my ankles. Why the fuck didn't I wear a skirt today?

'Now I am.' He amends, smirking.

'I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.' I say gently but he seems focused in staring at my trainers for a long time, frowning at them before gently untying the laces. 'Having fun?'

'Do you mind?' He asks thoughtfully but he doesn't stop at his task.

He unloosens the laces, allowing my foot space before shuffling my shoe off. I grin at the freedom and wiggle my toes so that the socks move. He's moved onto the next foot, finger delicate along my ankle, undressing it with such focus and such dedication that I grin and flex my toes in yet another dance exercise. He holds my ankle with a gentle clasp before tugging the shoe off and chucking it carelessly into the space around us. Now just in socks, he brushes a finger along the arch, laughs when it tickles me and rests his hand along my skin between trouser leg and sock material.

'Pleased?' I ask

'I never understood why as a dancer, you didn't spend more time without shoes.'

I laugh gently and arch my foot into a ballet position. 'It's just not always comfortable. That and I thought you had a thing about feet considering you always wear shoes in the house.'

'It's because my balance isn't so good. Shoes weigh me down.'

'Even after all the swimming?' I ask, eyebrows raised.

He doesn't reply, just looks at the material roof, locked in his thoughts. He is warm on my skin and though it's ridiculous, I think I'm more excited about this move than I was when he was holding my hand. As in physically excited, I mean. He was always exciting elsewise.

'This isn't the start of a foot fetish, I hope?' I say to him, biting my lip. He lifts himself up, eyebrows furrowed.

'Foot fetish?'

'Please don't ask me explain?' I beg, groaning. He snickers and shakes his head.

'What was it like?' He asks gently. 'The dancing and stuff?'

But his sudden turn of focus makes me feel somewhat uneasy and I look at him warily, eyes as gentle as I can make them.

'What?' He asks, confused. 'What have I said?'

'No-nothing. I was just wondering if-.'

'You did say you had questions.' He murmurs, with little resistance he encourages me to ask ahead.

'You don't have to answer them?' I offer gently, in the hopes this might make him feel better but I doubt it does other than make him feel more obliged. 'When you were swimming-?'

'Hmm?' He asks, playfully raising an eyebrow as though he's tempted to refuse my answer. His fingertips are itching against my ankle.

'It's just-. Well I know you're your own person and I can respect that completely, it's just-.' I inhale widely and readjust myself so I'm facing him. 'Three times is a lot though?' I say gently and because he doesn't understand my point-I'm forced to elaborate. 'It's just- well one incident with a spider was enough to leave me scarred.'

'You're asking if I intended to drown?'

The raw burn of the words in the open air stings my open wounds, but I nod my head. 'You don't have to answer if-'

'Yes.'

'Pardon?' I whisper, gravely.

He eyes a spot in the roof, his face pale but his manner still closed. He doesn't repeat it. I spend a moment thinking of an appropriate response. I stare at my animal socks, pointing them and resting them on his lap until I change my mind and drag them away. He raises his hands, apologetically, surrendering but seems surprised when he realises I'm fidgeting.

'Lay with me?' I ask.

He frowns at first, giving a gentle smile before tilting his head in question. Nevertheless, he pulls himself up along the seats, awkward, his knees bent as he lays uncomfortably on his side. I have to shuffle to lay next to him, holding my breath for a moment until I'm trapped on the edge of the back seat, resting on my left side and facing him, my legs touching against his. He laughs gently, blue eyes shining, his mouth millimetres from my own.

'This is the most uncomfortable position-'

'Then put your arm around me.' I interrupt him.

His frown turns more surprised, but I take the initiative to interlock my hand with his and wrap it up around my back, underneath the layers, just below my bra strap. His breath hitches slightly but once my hand falls away, his palm opens up, warm against my bare skin and electrocuting movement into every fibre of- he pulls me closer, the tip of his nose sliding down my own.

'You were saying?' I ask, my voice thicker now it lands on his lip. He doesn't shy from it.

'Is this what you're thinking? Tease me into confessing secrets?' He whispers, joyfully. 'Because it really isn't-.'

'I thought it might make you feel more comfortable.' I reply, toughly. He closes his eyes, fighting with two answers, both of them amusing apparently. 'I mean more supported, Carlisle.'

'Oh.' He says quickly and then he forces himself to return my gaze, watching my eyes, my mouth, still pulling me closer. 'Es, that's unbelievably… thoughtful.'

I'm about to kiss him again, or maybe he moves to kiss me but instead his words bleed painfully onto my lips.

'Yes, I tried to drown myself. The first time was genuine interest of the mosaic, the second two-.' His eyes close, his breathing stifling hot. 'I was struggling with… with it all. I probably suspected things before I found the photographs. Luckily, I don't remember too much but-'

'You don't need to be ashamed, Carlisle.'

'Perhaps I do. It was very selfish…' He says, subtly bitter underneath his calm.

'I don't agree.' I reply, carefully. 'I don't think anyone would. '

He shakes his head. 'You would be… the first.'

'To agree?' I ask, astounded but he uses his free hand to comb through my hair.

'To know.' His expression turns guilty. Those blue eyes so emotive, but so reluctant, too. 'Does that frighten you?'

I dip my chin, quietly thinking. 'Yes. But not because I don't trust you. More that- it frightens me no one noticed.'

'It wasn't their fault, Es. There was a lot of issues surrounding that place. There was a lot of people-'

'And you were the only child there, right?' I ask, gently. 'Out of all those people, not one person tried to protect you?'

'It was well hidden.' He lies carelessly.

'I don't believe that. Even at nine, twelve…thirteen; I don't think you're as good of a liar as you like to think you are. I think they're excuses.'

'Perhaps.' He muses but he's quiet enough that I know he's concerned about saying the wrong thing. I'm also aware that as much as he might want to open up to me, for now he could only get so far. So I attempt to stop dragging and instead try supporting

'You shouldn't be ashamed in your faith, Carlisle.'

'Shouldn't I?' He retorts quickly, wincing when he hears his words back to him.

'No. Not for a moment. The people who took advantage of-... Your belief doesn't make you complicit...'

'It doesn't always feel that way…' he confesses, breathing in so that his chest expands under my hands, he feels me tighten myself to him.

Or rather, he feels the way I hold him to myself again. One of my arms is twisted under the one that is flushed against my skin. But my hand is over his shirt, against the cloth. I'm supporting his act while my left hand twines itself in his heated hair, the threat of sweat evident in both of our temperatures.

'Your temper…?' I ask softly.

'Yeah?' He responds, mildly surprised by this comment.

'It's self-created, isn't it?'

'What do you mean?'

I briefly worry that I've over stepped the line but he's curious, asking for my response because he's desperate. I can see it all now, especially within every decision he's made, every slight confusion, it was all a creation.

'Please don't take this the wrong way-' I start.

'Never.' He vows.

'But-. When you're angry, it's a bit of a…?' I hesitate but to my surprise, he chuckles.

'You can say it.' He murmurs, encouragingly.

'It's an act, isn't it?' I whisper, ashamed of myself for thinking it but just as bad for saying it.

'It started off that way.' He admits. 'I think it's comforting now. It's nice to know that I can be seen as angry if I want. I think it also helps with day-to-day misery. It doesn't mistake my notice that I am one of the very few privileged people on this planet not to have many things to feel angry about.'

'I understand.' I promise softly.

'You do?'

'Who wouldn't?' I reply then I wince and start again. 'I mean that... it must be hard for every act to be a decision rather than an act on impulse.'

He surprises me by reeling back a little, away from me to stare between us, it makes me shiver.

'Oh God, I'm so sorry.'

He shakes his head, dismissively, enraptured by my utter irrationality, I think. Just as I'm about to burst into a song of apologises, he opens his mouth.

'I have never heard such a perfect explanation-'

'Wait, what?' I repeat, confused.

His lip quirks, teeth on show, eyes searching mine as though he's looking for something far more than just pupils enlarging into his. 'Esme Platt, you are extraordinary.'

'I am?' I question, leaning into his slick hand and fiddling with several loose waves of his hair. He nods, slowly, eyebrow raised.

'I think that's the last thing I expected to come out of your mouth.' He murmurs, laughing gently.

'Why?' I complain, still unsure of whether his laughter is trustworthy enough for me to join in or if I should call for help.

'Because you do act impulsively, you do make rash decisions and you do have a temper.' He emphasises each tone, laying stress on each word in a very different manner of speaking, creating a rhythm of sounds. If I wasn't so trusting of him, I think I'd be afraid, maybe I am anyway but he manages to settle my concerns with less than a few words.

'So what are you saying? That we're jealous of one another?' Because I will take patience any day over a shitty temper, uncontrollably emotional temper.

'I guess I'm saying; opposites attract.' As he goes to kiss me, I wriggle away, just out of reach by a millimetre. He looks concerned, as if he's worried he's over stepped the mark but I move to ensure I have his complete undivided attention.

'I want you to promise me a few things.' I say, nervous for his response but he agrees without hesitation.

'Of course.'

By metaphor of my upper hand, I slide my leg over his and grin so that he laughs.

'I want you to promise me that you'll try harder not to blame yourself, and you'll forgive your mistakes even when they're out of your hands. I want you to remember you're only human and appreciate that the decisions you make aren't infallible but that doesn't invalidate your emotions any less.'

'Es?' He questions, smirking

'Promise me.' I repeat, determined. He snickers, leaning up to kiss me, his fingertips so perfectly yearning for my surrender and encouraging the shiver.

'I will.'

'I want you to promise me that you'll admit when you're out of your depth and you'll communicate not only when others need it but more importantly, when you do, too. That you'll be honest and won't concern yourself with what you should be rather than what you are.'

'I will.' He confirms, smiling gently, nose once more sliding along mine so that my stomach fizzes.

It takes a hell of a lot to concentrate enough to finish whatever I was saying.

'I want you to promise not to doubt yourself so easily.' I see him hesitate and shush him. 'Or your faith. To not be afraid of feeling passionate for given reasons and to strive to satisfaction within yourself than with anyone else. For example, stop justifying other people and justify yourself, without the need to save lives. The life-saving qualifications are just bonus points in this case.'

He waits.

'That's it, I'm done.' I promise, laughing gently.

'For now.' He teases.

The hand that's on my back slides south so he can hold me more securely and with an uncomfortable groan, he pulls us until we're sitting up, still intertwined but now with our heads spinning. He sighs, a tonne of weight slipping from him as he raises his eyebrow.

'Well go on then.' I encourage. He laughs.

'I will.' He vows, the sound low in his throat, his grin loving and mischievous.

'Fantastic. Now we can-'

'But to conclude-.' He interrupts, shifting to allow him space. He raises his left hand, palm towards me and settles his right over his chest, close to wear the creases of his shirt are, holding the beat. He clears his throat for effect and tries again.

'I, Carlisle Cullen, do, in this 1994 Ford Fiesta, with sweat to drown the thousands and back-ache to migrate the medical officials, solemnly swear on this spring day, in the yer of our Lord twenty, sixteen that I will do everything in my power to adhere to the excessive proclamations of one Esme Anne Platt. And to prove my goodhearted faith, 'do seal with a righteous kiss'?'

He waits for me to grin pathetically at him before ensnaring his limbs back around my body and planting a rich and fulfilling kiss on my mouth. I squeal beneath him, not on purpose. I'm half overwhelmed with how much adoration I have for the man that I'm desperate to prove it. He wrenches my chin to his, intoxicating my ferocity with his sensuality, embracing every skin cell and injecting them with the most loving caress.

I think he's about to continue, about to wind his hand up my back, to make my shiver and cry for his attention, align a darted tongue in my swollen, desperate mouth but he doesn't. He lets my lips lose him and instead plants a kiss on my forehead.

'Faith, huh?' He says playfully, breathless but as beautiful as ever as he pulls me into his arms. I suspect this might be another attempt to void possible sentences at the order of Bella's father. I want it known that while I understand and empathise the requests, I do in no way agree, appreciate or respect them.

'Can't say overrated now?' I reply, grinning. Something about the careless grin of his makes me think of home and suddenly- 'Wait, do you think we need to be thankful to Edward for this? He kind of encouraged the conversation initially?' I add, laughing.

'I wouldn't speak too soon, Miss Platt.' He teases, softly. I laugh again. He's right.

I try not to, but nestled against his chest is just so comfortable that a yawn escapes my mouth before I can reign it in. He stiffens around me and yawns too before groaning softly.

'Speaking of Edward…' And he shifts me up to peak at the clock at the dashboard. 'Well, shit.'

'What? What's up?' I ask, pulling myself up. He laughs at first but it curbs tightly when he groans and rubs his eyes. 'Carlisle?' He pulls his phone from his back pocket and shows me the home screen, mouth gaping. 'It's three in the morning? How did that happen?!'

'I have no idea!' he replies, shocked. I look at where he's rubbing his forehead and nudge him but he just laughs tiredly and tightens his arm so that we're almost hugging. 'Are you okay?'

'Of course I'm okay. I haven't been travelling for days... Are you okay?'

'Hmm. Ten hour shift tomorrow. I'm questioning if it's worth sleeping at all.'

'Of course it is. Even if it's an hour or so, it's something?' I try to offer. I feel his shoulders shrug, warm against my many layers though still comfortable.

'I think you know better than I do that by the time we get into bed it'll be about five. I start at eight which might give me two hours sleep? Two and a half?' By the time we get into bed, huh? What on Earth did he have planned?

And who was he to think I would accept something as measly as an hour of worshiping every fabric of the cloth that stitched him?

'You'll be fine.' I promise.

'It's my own fault, anyway...' He says and though I can't see him, I know he's grinning. 'Would you mind if I drove us home?'

'Yes.' I reply. 'But needs must so you're forgiven.' While he's slightly distracted, I grab his chin and plant a chaste kiss on his mouth, one that still leaves him pouting when I move.

He's relaxed as we drive home and I'm not sure if that's because he's tired, irritated or regretful. Or maybe like me- wishing there were ten thousand more hours in the day.

Once inside, he presses an index finger to his mouth and hangs up both my coat and jacket before undoing two of his shirt buttons. I raise an eyebrow but he doesn't look at me just yet. A very light shade of chest hair peaks through the buttons and he fusses around with locking the front door before pointing upstairs. He's staring at my staring.

'What?'

'Are you trying to tease me?' I whisper, leaning my elbows on our stairs and pushing my hips out towards him. He chuckles softly, kisses my forehead and points again upstairs.

'Perhaps another night.' He murmurs.

'Apparently morning sex-'

'Hilarious.' He interrupts, his voice thick from whispering. I grin widely, laughing with him before moving away from the step and heading towards his room.

'I'll see you in there?' He asks, standing beside the bathroom door. I lean against the wall near his bedroom, accentuating my womanly charm and winking very widely. He rolls his eyes.

But for his own sake I decide it's best if I don't push him too much considering he won't be getting a lot of sleep. I pull on his shirt, do up most of the buttons this time and pull on some clean underwear of his so that it's not as suggestive as it would be. Despite this, he still stares once he enters the room again. After returning from the bathroom, I find him in the perfect spot in the perfect position on the bed, spread eagled, hands behind his head.

'All okay?' I ask, coming to stand at the edge. He grins and reluctantly moves to allow me space to nestle myself in.

'You've changed the sheets.' He notices, eyebrow raised accusingly.

'I kinda had to.' I say, grinning. He doesn't understand which half makes me want to demonstrate.

'Why?'

'Why do you think, Carlisle?'

He waits silently until the memory speaks for him.

'Wait- you really didn't put a towel down?' He asks, his voice weirdly high. I bite my lip, retreating into myself.

'Urm no, sorry…?'

He surprises me in groaning again, covering his face with both hands and dragging them dramatically across his stubble as he whines. 'Ugh, that's so fucking hot.'

'Perhaps another night?' I quote to him, smiling widely, he slides his hand down his face enough to raise an eyebrow at me.

'Aren't you supposed to be encouraging me?'

'I am.' I reply, checking the time on my phone. 'If you get to sleep now you might get three and a half hours.'

He drags his hands down his face again before turning his head to the side to smile at me. 'You're amazing.'

'Sleep well, Sweet.' I murmur, my heavy eyes already falling closed as I give into the space of the bed.

'And you, My Dear.'

And in a careful movement he lays a sixth, sweet and subtle kiss onto the skin of my lips, moving life into them briefly before sealing it off.