The long awaited 11th chapter! I hope you had great holidays, and I'm terrible sorry you had to wait, but it was nice to have a break anyhow. This chapter sees the arrival of a new character, more tension, and a very important step in the world of Edward and Jasper. Hope you like it, in spite of how short it is.

This is for those first kisses. Tell me if I overstepped the mark with the organ transplant simile.

Yield

In his bed I wake, swathed in the crisp white sheets that carry his smell, his hair dangerously close to my face. The sunlight streams in, the rain from yesterday forgotten like a friend, and makes his hair shine a brilliant copper. Edward faces me with his chin tucked into his chest, looking like the little boy he sometimes unconsciously shows to me. The slow pulse of his breathing is the only sound in the room.

I want to immerse my fingers into his hair, feel his scalp and kiss his forehead. The intensity of my longing looms over me like a dead weight, but I welcome it with open arms because it's the only thing that makes me feel. The only thing that stains my happy canvas is society and its twisted views. I'm not gay, I'm just in love with another man. It is as simple as that, but people start to assume, and soon enough, those assumptions start to grow as the truth when they're really far from it.

I try to ignore that Edward knows nothing of my infatuation with him and most of the time I succeed. Sometimes I fantasise. I see us in the future, not necessarily in a relationship, but together. I wish for more, I yearn for it. My heart aches for what I can never have. I almost miss it, but people say can't miss something you didn't have. I'm sure that somehow, if we had more, it would ruin our friendship, and I couldn't live with that.

He stirs, shuffling around further away from me and tucking his head in so much that I wonder how he doesn't strain his neck. I decide to leave. I tell myself that it's because I don't want to shuffle around awkwardly in the morning while he wakes, but really, it's because I can't bear to see him shut the door when I leave. It pains me to stand and watch his sleeping form, his face peaceful and relaxed, but I make myself do it.

"I think you're beautiful." My voice is nearly inaudible, just shallow breaths of a whisper, but it cuts through the room sharply. My greedy eyes watch him as his chest rises slowly, and I wonder how I managed to fall so far that I can't get out. He doesn't react.

******

I have another argument with myself that morning, persuading myself that I am not gay, while finding no evidence that I am straight. It is these arguments that bring tears to my ears and force me to clutch the steering wheel. It is these arguments that make me dig my nails into my palms so much that they are filled with angry pink crescents. Edward hasn't noticed yet.

His classes start later than mine do today, and even though he normally woke early to eat breakfast with me regardless, I'm glad he didn't this morning. I need time to think, dry my eyes. I take in a deep breath, fill my nose with the smell of petrol and the little green tree swinging from my mirror. I feel almost in despair, realising that I could never afford to tell Edward my true feelings for fear of crushing our fragile friendship. I had a choice: tell him and leave or keep quiet and stay. I already know which one I'm choosing, without a second thought.

I wonder if last night would be forgotten like a stray dog with its wiry tail between its legs, left alone and never seen again. Sometimes I feel as if this is what our relationship is like- teetering dangerously between flight and fall.

I watch the people milling about on campus, laughing and drinking and texting and kissing without a care in the world, and I want to shout at them, to scream at them for their innocence, their ignorance. They have a youth this love has stripped me of.

When I see him, I am surprised. Hanging around his arm is a petite girl with her long brown hair blowing onto his upper arm, her locks latching onto him like an octopus. His face is close to hers, smiling while she whispers something to him. I am transfixed by this rare display of affection coming from Edward. It is strange to see him bonding with someone else. Foreign. Unnatural, almost. But there it is, straight in front of my face, taunting me. Jealousy rises violently, coating me like slick black oil, so much, so much of it that I can't wash it off. There's a strong feeling of betrayal lingering around me. His eyes don't meet mind and light up like they normally do. No, they are already lit by this girl, this foreigner. My body rejects her almost like an organ transplant without sufficient medication. I feel dislike towards her, jealousy, just because she is with Edward. It is completely irrational, but it's there. I miss the meeting of eyes and the hardly suppressed smiles, the small greetings that were secret to us and no one else. An emptiness forms around me, one which I have never felt before. He arrives with this girl, standing before our table, fucking smiling.

"Guys, this is Bella," he breathes, slinging an arm around the girl. She smiles coyly, unsure of what to do next. Edward's green eyes meet mine, almost as if to ask for approval. I manage a small, weak smile before I have to look down and take a sudden interest in my lunch. The table exchanges greetings, and because there is little room, they squash up next to each other on the edge, thighs more than touching. I make no attempt to include myself in their conversation- they look too busy feeding each other bits of pasta. The table leaves them alone, for they are boyfriend and girlfriend and therefore deserve to be left alone. Bella's giggles float to my ears, a nasty sound, something which I before would have perceived as beautiful.

I finish off my sandwich quickly, wanting to get away from the internal circus. It is too much for me to comprehend all at once. Slinging Maria from my arm, I stand and avoid the gaze of a puzzled Edward. My feet carry me unconsciously to the path towards my car, my mind not even registering the movement. It feels like the moments before you faint, becoming detached from your own body, watching yourself as an outsider. A strong hand steadies my shoulder, making me turn abruptly, broken from my trance.

"Where are you going?" Edward looks concerned. My eyes dart past him, onto the table, where I see Bella uneasily making conversation. Suddenly, I feel sorry for the poor girl- Edward is her connection to our table, and with him gone, she is lost.

"You should get back to Bella," I say rather stoically, meeting his electric eyes straight on for a moment, before turning again.

"Where are you going?!" His voice is stronger, louder, the hand on my shoulder now more forceful.

"Home."

"Are you not going to wait for me?"

"Why should I? We took separate cars."

"I know…" he trails, seeming at a loss, eyes darting everywhere but missing me out. His voice is softer. "I just thought…you know, we always- never mind."

I turn again to leave, trying to ignore how much it pains me, how much it hurts me to turn my back on him, even when he is the cause of it. He calls out again, and I stop.

"I can get us a pizza when I return, if you like."

"You don't need to bother."

******

I arrive to an empty house, and immediately tears fill my eyes at the thought of what I've done and what Edward has done and how the hell did I get myself into this situation? The familiar numbness crawls over me again, and I can't decide what to think of. My mind rushes, too quick for me to keep up. I contemplate leaving, but I do not have the strength. He has tied me here, taken me hostage with his looks and his smell and his breath and his words, all haunting me.

There is nothing to do until Edward comes home, so I throw myself into assignments that are not due in months in the hope that I will be able to keep him out of my mind.

I am almost relieved to hear the lock turning, but I can't hold down the butterflies in my stomach. I smile because Edward is here. Flinging my pen, I slowly walk to the door of my room, opening it to reveal a flushed Edward juggling a pizza box and his bags.

"I got pizza, Jasper!" he shouts, unaware of my presence. I want to laugh, but my selfish side reminds me to be angry.

"I said you didn't need to," I say slowly, quietly. He turns quickly.

"Oh," he mumbles, licking his lips. "I wanted to." With nothing else to say, I walk past him, his smell intoxicating me for a moment, into the kitchen to get plates. He sees what I'm doing, and drops his bag on the floor. We move, unspeaking, around each other, a heavy tension lingering in the air. It is almost like a choreographed dance, smooth, graceful movements, but never touching. Edward seems restless, jigging his leg, constantly fidgeting- a change from his normal composed demeanour. He eventually gives in.

"What's happened to you, Jasper?"

"Nothing."

"Please tell me. I've been receiving monosyllabic replies from you all day. You're so irritable."

"Edward, just…" I trail off hopelessly, sighing. He sits next to me and rests a hand on my forearm. I'm so alert, conscious of what I'm getting myself into, but nevertheless, I sail straight on.

"Please," he whispers, his face close to mine, his expression sincere. If only you knew. I can't stop my eyes from slinking down to look at his lips for just a fleeting moment. I'm suddenly angry, hard, brittle anger rising through my throat. The frustration and desperation of the past few weeks combine to make a wicked emotion, all pointed at Edward. His eloquent voice, his lithe fingers and his coppery hair are all teasing me, taunting me to go further.

"For god's sakes, Edward!" I roar, standing up. He moves backward, an instinctive reaction, mouth slightly open. At this moment, I'm not sure whether to hit him or take his head in my hands. My jaw is tense, grinding teeth, my muscles straining. The rational side tells me to slow down, but I'm so livid that it's taking over, consuming me until I can't think logically. I'm only seeing red, fire, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks and chest, making me even more irritable. Before I know it, I've said it. "Go fuck Bella or something!"

He flinches, blinking as if he cannot comprehend what I just said. Then his jaw tenses, lips pursed, making him look incredibly angry. His fists curl and uncurl, white knuckles glowing, as his eyes dart around the room, meeting anything but mine. I watch his expressions change. Surprise, anger, betrayal. I'm still panting, unable to regain control of my breathing. We stand in the living room while the painfully awkward situation grasps our bodies and shakes them. I hear the clock ticking.

Unable to bear this any longer, I turn and march to my room, leaving Edward alone. I make sure to slam the door loudly, although I later regret this decision for fear of looking like a temperamental adolescent. Tears flow down my cheeks as the rage consumes me, my mind reeling at what I had just done. I almost wish for Edward to come into my room, make this easier, start talking. I fear that I could tell him anything in this vulnerable state.

He eventually does come. I sit on my bed, twiddling with a snail shell, my fingers following the winding brown patterns until the recede into nothing. The sheets crease where I sit on them. I refuse to look at him, not wanting him to see my self-affliction, jealous of his ability to be cryptic.

"Is this because of Bella?" I don't want to answer, ashamed. "Is it?!" He raises his voice, jaw tense and I see his fists curling in, skin stretched and pale, accentuating his brilliance.

"Yes," I answer softly.

It feels like forever before he answers.

"You know you don't have anything to be afraid about. You're still my best friend." I shine on the inside, but it's not enough; it will never be enough. More, I need more. "I mean, you didn't have to leave like that, I thought maybe…You have Maria, you don-"

"Maria is not my girlfriend!" I can't contain my anger at his incorrect assumptions. I thought he was brighter than that. He pauses, a sorry look pasted on his face. Guilt seeps into my body, I regret shouting at him, hurting him. "You're the most important person in my life," I whisper before I can contain myself, my voice meek and strangled.

The room ticks with excitement and tension at the same time. It seems almost restless, the persistent ticking of the clock, the impatient wind beating at the windows. Edward crosses the room in two long strides. He sits next to me on the bed, closer than he's ever been before, and hugs me, his embrace strong and full of life. I'm sheathed in his smell, his skin, my cheek brushing against his. The feel of his chest, his hands on my back make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I hear his breathing, take in the smell of his hair. Memories of love and sunshine and the moon flood my mind, overwhelm my body, drown me. We start to pull away, slowly, but something makes me stop, hesitate when my lips are at his cheek. He doesn't move, stays still as ice; I feel his breaths at my ear, slightly hurried. The closeness of his skin is wonderful. I press my lips softly against his cheek, soft flesh against stubble, my nose close to his bronze hair. Cedar and almonds and cinnamon, his smell is like an elixir to me. I treasure it as if it were gold. My lips pause at his skin longer than necessary before pulling away. I can't believe what I've just done. Kiss him.

I stare at his eyes- he looks frozen, but I manage to catch his pupils darting to my lips. Tentatively, like a child, I rest my fingers against his throat, feeling the vein pulsing quickly. Strong, steady, fast pulses. He gulps, mesmerising me with his Adam's apple, covered by the milky skin of his throat, and it's all so primal now, I can't resist anymore, so I lean forward, slowly, softly, watching his piercing eyes the whole way, until I'm a centimetre from his lips, until, finally, I close my eyes and kiss him.

His lips, soft and yielding to mine, part slightly. I pull my lips away, for he's still, unmoving, and kiss him again because I think my heart is melting and I'm in love and he is beautiful. I silently plead with him, brushing my nose against his cheek. Move. I feel like laughing when he kisses me back, soft and steady, his fingers sliding into my hair, gently pushing me to him. It's all supple and yielding and delicate, like he's exploring. We pull away for air, and I feel the release of his breath, forceful through those lips, passion and emotion liberated. He kisses me this time, harder, his hand on my neck, on my back, scrunching my shirt with his fist. I feel warm, yellow, as he leads me to places I haven't been before. My stomach tingles and my jeans are tight, and all I can feel is his cherry lips and his hair and his neck, his chest against mine. We stop, and his eyes meet mine, penetrating, seeing into my soul.

"Edward," I whisper, my hand dropping from his throat as he slowly backs away and I realise something is very wrong. He swallows and licks his lips again, climbing off the bed, brows furrowed as if he was in pain. I watch as he walks away, leaving me on the bed with the ghosts of his kiss and his touch, causing me as much pain as pleasure. It feels like a dream, and I quickly go through the past two minutes, picking up the scattered feelings and emotions and visions before they all disappear. This time, I don't cry.