When I woke up to a bed full of Pretty Boy the next morning I hurt. And, it wasn't just the vagina like I expected. I hurt all over. Like I'd done some kind of particularly brutal boot camp and pulled muscles I had never used before.

I pulled myself up, running a hand through my hair to try and tame the mane, and looked over at him. Damn he was cute. The boy was face down in the mattress twisted into what had to be a totally uncomfortable position. His eyelashes fluttered all over the place.

His mouth was an absolute disaster zone.

All around his bottom lip was swollen and red. It was beginning to heal over where I split it, but honestly it looked like someone had given him a swift right hook to the jaw. It would've been inappropriately hot if I didn't know how it actually happened. Actually, it was still pretty hot.

"Bella?" his voice was muffled by a pillow.

I brushed his hair back with my palm so I could see his eyes better, even if they were tightly closed. "Uh huh?"

"Oh good, you didn't go foraging for carbs without me."

"I don't forage. Everyone eats breakfast, MC."

He mumbled: "Sure, sure."

A hand groped around in the air to try and find me. Eventually he caught my elbow and tugged me down beside him. I let myself be dragged up tight against his side my chin resting by his shoulder.

"MC, you need to let go."

He harrumphed into his pillow and kept hold of me.

"Edward, I need to pee. Unless you're into that give me my arm back!"

"Fine." He rolled over onto his back, one arm flung across his eyes. He peeked out from under it at me.

I grinned. "You look like someone kicked your ass."

He grinned back at me. "You routinely kick my ass. It was only a matter of time before it got physical."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "Please sing Olivia Newton-John to me. It would be the hottest moment of my life. My existence."

"You can't beat me and mock me, Duckling."

"Not even if there's sex involved?"

He touched his hand to his swollen mouth and grimaced a little.

I leaned over him and pressed my closed mouth very gently against the bloodied area before jumping up. That was a feat to behold considering my legs had gone on strike.

"I'll be right back. I won't even stop to forage, promise."

I pulled on my pants, sans panties, one of his t-shirts and grabbed the bottle of mouthwash from Pretty Boy's sink on my way out the door. I padded barefoot down the corridor towards the bathrooms hoping I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew.

Lucky for me the place was abandoned. It was much too early for anyone but the walk-of-shamers to be out and about. In addition to peeing I took the chance to splash cold water on my face, cleaned up a little down below, and freshened up my breath.

It wasn't until I got back to Pretty Boy's door that I realized I didn't have the key, and the person who did have the key was face down on a mattress on the floor inside semi-conscious. I really didn't want to shout through to him. The minute that started then I would have people peering out of their doors trying to figure out what was going on. And, I couldn't call him... my phone was inside in one of my pants pockets.

I didn't even have my own room key, and the chance of Jenna being there to let me in was zero. Maybe zero point one.

This was a disaster.

Trying to avoid being conspicuous I knocked lightly. There was no reply.

I knocked again, a little louder.

I called through the door: "Edward?"

A door at the end of the corridor started to open.

I banged on the door. More doors started to creak open.

"MC! Open the fucking door right now!"

The door swung open while I was still pounding on it. Glaring occasionally over my shoulder at the nosy fuckers who had come to see me in all my rat nest hair glory.

He had managed to put on a pair of boxers but that was about it. Edward was rumpled. Dark-eyed and mussed up. His hair kinda looked like a lion's mane.

"Duckling? What the fuck are you doing out here?"

The spectators were shamelessly taking in our little exchange. I could hear the tip-tap of fingers on iPhone touchscreens. Probably letting their friends know that the awful rumors were true and Edward Masen-Cullen was not up for grabs. Or, they'd have to work a little harder than thought.

Pretty Boy was taking up the whole doorway. I swatted at his arms pushing past him. "I need my panties, God, MC."

There was some snickering from behind me and I'm pretty sure a couple of disappointed faces. The whole dorm was co-ed and some of Pretty Boy's biggest fans were on the same floor as him.

He was still standing by the door, a little dumbstruck, boy was that boy bad in the morning, when I called from inside: "Put on some pants, it's carb time!"

My hand gripped at the cuff of his hoody. His fingers slipped up inside the back of my shirt. His arm wrapped around me. My ribs pressed up against him. I was on some kind of strange, clingy leash that made me want to be right up next to Pretty Boy at all times. Even while walking. He didn't seem to be complaining.

The weather had turned wintery but I knew he would roll his eyes at me if I pretended I was just cold.

Pretty Boy's cell phone started shrieking - interrupting our post-coital winter wonderland. He answered it with the hand that wasn't currently wrapped so far around my waist it was resting inside the front pocket of my hoody.

"Lissy, I can't hear you. What the fuck is that?"

"Why are you on a train?"

"Huh?"

"I'm hanging up now, call me when the apocalypse isn't happening."

He stashed his cell and turned his face to look down at me. "I heard the words 'Christmas train'. I have no idea."

"Maybe you should call someone - check she's okay?"

"Oh yeah, no, she'll be fine. She's insane. But she's alright. Jasper's her full time carer."

I smacked his side. "That's a really shitty thing to say."

"And you're so full of decorum and political correctness and tact and grace."

"I should have known. TV warned me that you would be an asshole after I let you in my pants."

He grinned. "Come on, I'll give you a piggy back to the diner. Carry you over all these icy puddles, like a gentleman."

I glared. "Can't. My legs won't open that far anymore."

He grinned wider before he started laughing. Then, before I could even bitch him out, Pretty Boy had thrown me over his shoulder in a Fireman's lift and continued walking.

"MC! Fuck! Be careful with me - I'm all battered and bruised because of you!"

He kept laughing as I half-heartedly flailed on him and finally slid me down his body so that my toes could touch the ground, and finally, finally I was solidly on the sidewalk. His lips chased mine downwards until he could kiss me. Softly. His hands resting either side of my ribs.

It was quiet and cold - our breath visible in the air between us. I didn't know what to say.

"Still your favorite?" I asked very quietly, without pulling away.

He nodded so our foreheads almost touched. "Still my favourite."

"Good. Me too, with you."

One of his hands came up between us to brush away my overgrown bangs, resting lightly on my temple. "Mmm, I wish we didn't have to go tomorrow."

"Couldn't we just cancel Christmas this year?"

He kissed me again, quickly, his injured lip a little rough against mine. "Come on, Grinch. Pancakes await you."

"What about their wafflely friends?"

"Also graciously expecting their death at your teeth. I pre-warned them." He tapped his lower lip.

"Don't worry," I told him as we started off again, "waffles don't get in my pants, just my belly."

While Pretty Boy was fetching me yet another coffee, Jess rang to remind me that we had a study date with 'the gang' in the library today. I had forgotten. Time seemed fuzzy - pulled too tight and frayed in other places.

Most of us had one last educational hurdle to leap through that afternoon before Mike's epic party in the evening and a swift departure the next morning, hopefully sans hangover. If I had been staying with Renee then I would have had to leave straight after my test.

A steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of me.

"MC, we're supposed to be in the library."

"Fuck 'em."

"You're so charming. I need to study."

"We can study at home."

"No we can't - you'll take off my clothes, or your clothes, and then I'll flunk out."

"You know if you studied at any other time of the year we wouldn't have this problem."

"Hindsight and all that jazz," I agreed.

When we finally found ourselves in the library everyone had already gathered upstairs. The seventh floor of the library was totally dead.

There were only six or seven of us up there in the wastelands of the theatre, film, and music collections. Pretty Boy was in the right place, the rest of us were just avoiding the librarians policing the busier English Lit floors downstairs.

We made a show of trying to be quiet, but there wasn't much effort behind it. In the land of librarian law-enforcers we would have definitely been busted. Up on seventh the worst that happened was a dirty look from a senior who was absolutely, without a doubt, a theatre major.

No one wore a neckerchief quite like a theatre major.

A few hours later Pretty Boy looked absorbed in the books around him. One had blank sheet music that he was scribbling notes into, he had a plain college ruled book and about a million reference texts around him.

He was totally into it.

I had an empty notebook, a pile of magazines, and a handful of relevant books. Less into it.

We were on our own for a moment. Everyone else trawling the stacks in search of a magical book that might actually help them pass this semester.

"You love this stuff, why'd you drop out of Juilliard? Isn't it like impossible to get into?"

Pretty Boy answered without looking up: "Hardly."

"Okay, but it's a good school."

"So's this one." He shrugged.

"Music isn't exactly its speciality."

"I told you," he mumbled around the end of his pen, "I wanted to come home."

"Okay, sure, except you're never there. You're always here. I know because you spend the majority of your time annoying me."

"I —" he stopped, put down his pen, and looked up at me. "I had an okay time in high school."

I rolled my eyes. "You were popular. Go figure."

"Sure, I guess."

"And?"

"And everyone has always made a big deal about the music thing. I know I'm good; I'm not trying to be like — whatever. I nearly signed with this label that's linked to the one T works for."

"That's so cool."

"But I ended up going to New York instead, and, I don't know, it's what I've always been all about. I was sick of it, y'know? I just wanted something else for awhile. You haven't even heard me play."

"So... different."

"Or at least not all-consuming."

"You gonna be a rock star when you graduate?"

"Nah — I think they wanted me to be in some lame boy band, anyway."

"Do boy bands even still exist? What is this, 1992?"

"Shut up, Duckling. This is why I don't tell anyone."

"So, no one knows you were almost poster-fodder for twelve-year-old girls everywhere?"

"You know."

"You could have had a private jet with your face on it."

"Something to aspire to in life."

"You know your life is fucking bizarre, right?"

"You mean no one ever stopped you in the street when you were fifteen and asked if you wanted to be a supermodel?"

"Oh sure, I spent my senior year in Tokyo eating sashimi and doing photo shoots with talking vegetables and giant penguins."

Pretty Boy flicked a pen cap at me, and turned back to his books.

I looked down to mine, then to my watch, then back to the books. Three hours until I was royally screwed.

The clock ticked — echoing in my brain like a cheesy, ominous movie — before I realized I was resting my head on the same arm that currently had my watch strapped to it.

My pen had already burst from chewing on the end of it. I looked like a dalmatian, or a frostbite victim, except one hundred percent less composed. Finals were quickly corroding any remaining will to live I had left.

I answered every question on the test, but I didn't even want to think about how well I might have done — a pass was a-okay with me. I didn't have a scholarship, or reputation, or huge career dream to hang on to.

Jess was hanging around when I got all my shit packed up. "How'd you do?" she asked nervously.

"I don't think they'll kick me out? You?"

"Ergh, same. I studied, I did, but that was killer, right?"

"Totally."

"Fuck, what'd you do to your hands?"

"Oh, apparently I'm a nervous biter." I laughed at the accuracy of that statement as an image of Pretty Boy's mangled lip popped into my head.

Jess cocked an eyebrow at me.

I explained: "Pen exploded."

"Ah." A devious glint entered her eyes as we started to walk away from the building and our academic doom. "Poor Edward."

"Poor Edward nothing. That boy is a hazard."

"Yeah, to your attention span. Definitely not to the eyes."

"Yes, he's pretty. Yes, he's smart, and thoughtful, and much nicer than me, oh, and an obnoxious brat. We all love Edward," I sing-songed sarcastically.

I caught myself and blinked hard.

"I mean like I love grilled cheese. Like, how everyone loves grilled cheese... not love like —"

"You guys are cute. You are a 'you guys' now, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Has his tongue been in your mouth?"

My lip twitched in a distinctly Pretty Boy way. "Among other things —"

Jess burst out laughing. "You're a 'you guys'."

"It's strange," I confessed.

"It's not strange."

"It's strange for me."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I feel... I really like him."

Jess rolled her eyes impatiently. "Well, that's a good thing, Bella."

"I know. I just, I don't — want him to get sick of me, or something."

"Oh babe, you have no clue. That boy is smitten — fuck knows why because you're super mean to him. He more than 'grilled cheese' loves you."

I tried to absorb what Jess was saying. She didn't know, really. She could just be spouting romantic bullshit for all I knew. But, out of the two of us, sadly Jess was the most likely to accurately read human emotions in practise and maybe she was right. Maybe I came higher on Pretty Boy's list of things to like than grilled cheese. That other word though? I couldn't say it, not even in my head. Not because I didn't like it, didn't want it, didn't think it might be the most magical thing that could ever happen. I just couldn't.

"I need a drink. In lieu of us having fake IDs or booze or actually being twenty-one, wanna grab a coffee?"

"Sure. I think I need the caffeine to recover!"

We walked quickly to the same diner Pretty Boy had taken me for breakfast carbs. It was busy, crowded and noisy, but the caffeine was worth it.

The latte calmed my nerves and Jess seemed to be back to her regular color once she was two thirds into her cappuccino.

She looked up at me across our tiny table. "When are you going to your mom's for Christmas? Are you going to be around for Mike's party?"

"Oh, change of plans. She's fourth honeymooning with Philip or something so I'm going to my dad's again."

"Cool, so you'll be here tonight, right? It's not as far to your dad's?"

"Yeah, it's a few hours drive."

She laughed. "You sound so excited."

I hesitated before I admitted: "Edward asked me home for the holidays."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That's kinda crazy. I mean, sweet, but... seriously?"

"I know. I said no. I mean, I should go spend it at home. I don't even know if he checked with his family before he asked me to crash."

Jess raised both eyebrows and took another sip of her cap before she spoke. "His parents must be hella cool if he did."

"He lives with his sisters. It's a whole Party of Five thing."

"Oh. Wow. Sure, of course. So do they go to school here?"

"Nah. They're like eons older than him. He's their baby."

"Oh, cutie." She grinned back.

"Okay, you cannot say anything though. I don't know if he's okay with people knowing, or, whatever. I'm the shittiest not-girlfriend ever. I probably shouldn't have told you, right? Right!"

"No clue. It's cool though, I'd never tell anyone."

"I know. Okay, I'll defo be at Mike's."

"Yay, bring your eye candy. Seven-eleven guy has a mullet right now and it's depressing me."

"I'm going to tell MC that you have a crush — actually, no, you're too cute. He doesn't need to know. Although you should gimme some of your boobs. Equality and all that."

"Shut up, Edward doesn't give a damn about my boobs."

"Oh sure. I have a thing for your boobs, Jess."

"Go home, Bella, before you make me cry over your ridiculously hot boy who ignores my chest.

"Don't wear a bra to Mike's - you'll see."

"Ew, no. Mullet guy will get the wrong idea."

"Bye, Jess!"

"See ya, Bella!"

Pretty Boy had been packing up his room — barely — for the past few hours. It seemed more like the past few decades.

"You know you can just drive back if you forget something, right?"

"It's Christmas." His brow furrowed as he looked up from the bomb site-esque catastrophe he still had the audacity to call a closet. It was worse than mine and it was a well-documented fact that in Bella 'closet' translated to 'that giant pile of vaguely clean clothes on the floor in the corner.'

"So? It's only like an hour both ways. Scared you might miss Scrabble?"

"You've never played Scrabble with my family. It's a brutal, emasculating sport that I always lose."

"So, something I'd enjoy then?"

"Actually, yes."

"Hah. I can't believe you lose at Scrabble. I can't believe you lose at Scrabble and admit it."

Scrabble was my jam. Monopoly and Clue could go fuck themselves. I always got rid of all my tiles, and ten-point letters on a triple word score were just expected in my world. I have no idea how I got so good — must have been natural talent — cause Charlie and Renee could barely remember how many tiles they were supposed to have, let alone work any kind of strategy.

He threw a crumpled shirt at my head. "I like numbers. I dare you to play poker with me."

"Uh, no — you count cards, I bet my next coffee on it."

His mouth twitched in that way that made me blink hard while my insides jumped around. He didn't argue with me.

"When do you head out?" I asked when I was capable of speech again.

"Tomorrow morning — before you'll be conscious."

"Wake me up."

"Do you promise not to hit me?"

"No."

"Your plan has a glaring flaw."

"You're leaving. I'm a delicate flower with abandonment issues."

"You're leaving, too. Anyway, shouldn't I be the one with abandonment issues? You turned down my invite to come with."

"Whatever, your family are fucking terrifying. I can't deal with the hot moms over Christmas dinner."

I threw his shirt back at him. I realized I'd been hugging it to my chest and pulling at loose threads. It was a little too needy, even for me, to be snuggling his used clothing before he was out of the building.

Pretty Boy looked at me, and I looked at him, but neither of us said anything. Things seemed heavier since we'd had sex. Not in a bad way, more like a giant amazing goose-down quilt on top of you that you can burrow into when it's cold outside kinda heavy.

Finally I spoke up. "You know I don't actually want to go to my dad's, right? I kind of want to crawl into that stupid duffel bag you have and pop out when you get home and give you a heart attack when you realize I made space for myself by unpacking the sixty thousand shirts you think you'll need."

He shuffle-crawled across the stiff carpet until he was close enough to hook my bangs behind my ear. I was perched on the edge of his mattress on the floor. His fingers hovered on my cheek and my ear.

"I'll miss you, too, Duckling."

"You're not gonna decide I'm too much work when you get back?"

"Nah. Work? Yeah. Too much? Not quite."

I rolled my eyes as he rolled me back into the mattress. "You're the world's shittiest packer," I told his mouth.

"And you're a violent, emotional cripple."

I sort of shrugged underneath him as his mouth moved down my neck. "Not untrue."