I can only apologise for the wait you have had to endure. I do have my reasons. Enjoy

This is for Katie.

Laugh

I'm drunk, too drunk on my own insomnia to comprehend fully what I am doing. My mind's a daze, I walk with idle legs, stopping to run my fingers against the wall leading to his room. I watch myself getting closer to his door, slightly ajar. The darkness does nothing to discourage me, rather shields my skin so I can't see my hands as they tentatively push the door forward. Touching the cool wood shocks me slightly, makes this real, although, somehow, I need to carry on.

My head spins. I can hardly seem him, but he's there, just a bump in the duvet. The clearest thing in the room is the piano, the contrasting ivory and ebony keys almost bright, almost like bearing teeth. I daren't go any nearer.

My face is wet and my breaths are loud as they cut through the silence. I'm afraid I'll wake him. I'm still touching the door, steadying myself, my fingers flush against the material. I can't see the tears in front of me, they make no difference to my vision, only make my cheeks cold. I can almost feel his hand on me, fingers trailing along my collarbone, and instinctively, I reach up to touch the skin there before pulling away abruptly. I feel stuck between reality and dreams, not quite in one but not touching the other either. This is something else. I can't give it a name, can't quite describe it. My body feels numb, and at this moment, I'm not sure what I want. I'm not sure of myself, and I wonder if I will ever find anything in this carnival of me. My eyes meet Edward, and I suddenly want his arms on me again.

"Jasper," he whispers almost inaudibly, but I'm sure that it wasn't an accident. I don't reply, just watch him. He doesn't move. I swallow.

"Come here." My heart beats violently, his voice almost a command. My hand leaves the door, then touches it, then leaves again. I'm unsure as everything flows through my mind, clouding my already frail ability to make decisions. I stay standing at his door, frozen.

"Please." I want to smile at his voice and somehow be enveloped in it, but I can't. Everything is thrown out of the window, all the insecurities I had earlier are shrouded by Edward as I tentatively go forwards, step by step, as if learning to walk. He doesn't move when I reach the edge of his bed. The sea of sheets stands before me, dangerously rough, but he's there too. So I start.

I move forward. One knee, then the other. And now, I'm on his bed, his hand calling me. I lie down; rest my heavy head on one of his pillows, sinking into him accidentally. The whites of his eyes shine, harrowing and eerie, not blinking. Then he notices my tears, and, still not changing his expression, moves himself closer, brings me to his chest. His arm drapes over my back, and the weight of it comforts me more than I could imagine, stirring my stomach and making me warm. My nose brushes his chest, and I inhale, almost forget to breathe. He's driving me blind.

Then his chin rests on my head, now he's surrounded me, and God, I have such love for him in this moment that it makes me hurt, makes me cry. Without a thought, my arm clutches his waist close. I feel him breathe, a slow rocking motion. Not a sound he makes.

I hold him as he holds me, surviving on the feel of his skin, and I think of him and life and love. I'd run after him for as long as he could breathe. Because, you see, we're not that different, him and me.

******

We're not the way we were the next morning. Grown apart, there was no need for me to break his hold, which, in theory, should have made the parting easier. It didn't.

But as I left, I felt lighter, reminded myself of the daisies behind our garden. I saw them when I ran from my parents, seeking somewhere to hide. Even in my immature teens, I recognised their pretty faces, marvelled at the way something so simple could look beautiful. Now, Edward's skin somehow connected with this memory, and suddenly, I yearned to see them again.

So I move through my day in a blur, last night clouding my mind. In my quiet moments, I take it out, feel it all over again and smile. Sometimes, I wonder if it's really true, but those are just fleeting thoughts. I can almost not believe my confidence. The sound of a glockenspiel floats into my head and I marvel at the way it fits, because nothing has ever been so good.

There's a part of me that wants to ask Edward about everything, anything but I have to stop myself because one wrong move could send us falling. Last night was perfect, and I didn't want it ruined by my need for answers. He's made me happier than I've been by far.

And now somehow everything I own has inherited his smell, reminding me of him all the time. More than anything, I just wanted to kiss him. I felt something, something changing, twisting, and my body felt different. I feel like a different person to what I was yesterday, and this scares me slightly. So I play his touches over and over again until it becomes madness in my head and I have to stop. Still, I'm unbelievably happy.

******

As I drive home, I have an idea. I was aware that it was deemed uncool, even strange, for one to like their grandmother. However, I learnt to throw all of that away when I was a teenager, for my grandmother was probably my favourite person in the world. I used to walk to her house over the wheat fields in the scorching sun with the sweat shining from my back after school, and just sit and listen. Somehow, she was always on my side, something that I found fascinating. She was incredibly interesting, a trait no one else seemed to notice. These visits strictly had to be kept secret, for my reputation would be ruined.

The drive to her house brings back all of these memories, and I smile as I remember how she always brought me freshly squeezed orange juice, her papery hands undeniably strong. She looks much older now; hair fully grey and fragile, hands stained by life and the sun, but her eyes are still bright. The smell of her house is comforting to my emotions, strokes them and tames them. Again, she offers me orange juice, but now it's from the supermarket, in a carton. It doesn't compare.

"Jasper, a boy your age should have met someone by now." Still, sometimes old-fashioned views did shine through.

"I have."

"Oh, well that's good. I hope you're happy. The cat died, by the way. Good job too, it was too old anyway," she waves away her words.

"My roommate is called Edward."

"That's a pretty name. I've always loved that name, ever since I met my first boyfriend. He was lovely."

"Edward was granddad's name," I say, confused.

"Granddad was my first boyfriend, use your head." I smile at her words, how easy this is.

"How's your mother holding out?"

"She's fine. I haven't seen her in a while, actually."

"I heard that you've found an apartment." Her ability to switch subjects was extraordinary.

"I found one months ago, grandma. It's Edward's."

"Actually, I do remember your mother telling me now. Well, I hope you're happy with it. It's about bloody time, your mother was getting worried," she laughs, so I laugh with her, and we're both so carefree. But she squints to see the time, her sight failing, and she talks of death so flatly, without a fear, that it scares me. Her hand shakes of old age and she's stared to hunch over ever so slightly, so that it's only visible from certain angles. It's funny how these things affect me more than they affect her, and I start to wonder how weak we all really are.

Suddenly, I feel an urge to tell her more about Edward, show her the way I see him through my eyes. I feel the way time is pulling her away from me.

******

I pull into the driveway, and I can feel the excitement rising through my body at the thought of seeing Edward again. I start to fiddle for my keys, but he opens the door before me, hair tousled over his forehead, almost panting.

"Where were you?!" he exclaims, before swallowing and regaining his composure, eyes darting around my body. I cock my head to the side and smile at his worry.

"I was visiting my grandmother."

"You didn't tell me."

"Well, today, you should have arrived much later." I move towards the doorway, hoping he would move to let me get in. He only shifts a little to the side. I try to pull my shoulders together, make myself as small as possible, but it's to no avail. My arm painfully brushes past his chest as I walk in. My stomach clenches, that sweet pain surrounding me so I almost close my eyes. I'm sure I hear him exhale, but my movement is too quick, and I regret it. "Why are you so early?" I swallow my emotions.

"My afternoon class didn't have a teacher, so I bunked." I raise an eyebrow.

"It's not like you to bunk. Or even say that word."

"It's not like you to not tell me when you disappear," he smiles so his face lights up, all lovely and shining, and I can't help but grin back at him as I fiddle with my keys and yearn to hold his hand. "Come on. I think we need a beer."

It has started to seem like all we do is drink beer, but really, I love it. Alcohol softens Edward's tongue, makes him more relaxed. More inclined to touch me.

He makes pancakes that night, and God, they were brilliant. Soft and sweet, with lemon and fruit and cream and chocolate. The taste made me sigh and feel whole. Some of the chocolate escaped, started to run down Edward's mouth, all glistening and gorgeous. I was mesmerised. It made me think of other things too, things I should not have thought. They made me feel uncomfortable, nervous almost, so I tried hard to brush them away.

And now Edward is laughing loudly, his sound ringing across the room, begging me to laugh with him. He loses control of himself, beer sloshing in the glass. The sofa suddenly moved, pulling me in as Edward falls onto me, still laughing wildly, his head in my lap. The feeling that rushes through me cannot be described. My instinct tells me to bend over, envelop him in my body and clutch his head in my hands, kiss him, anything to relieve the burning in my stomach. My muscles tense, even though I try to force them to relax, but now I can't breathe. His laughter turns into small chuckles, and then just the occasional snicker, before he makes no sound at all. And then all is quiet.

A change of equilibrium floats into the room almost suddenly, so that you do not see it until you realise. Everything is silent now. Even the ticking of the clock seems almost muffled, slowed down. Edward's eyes meet mine and his lips part. My fingers move slyly towards his jaw, slowly so he cannot see, and I leave my hand on his shoulder where I first touched him to cushion his fall. He swallows. I take my opportunity.

"Edward, you know what I did last night?" It was more of a question than a statement. He surprises me though, lifting his head from my legs. The cold rushes in, leaves me feeling naked. A groan escaped from his mouth, tired and exhausted of this, and he takes another swig of his beer, facing forward and not me. I watch as the liquid sloshes from one end to the other like a turbulent wave.

"Leave it alone," is all he says before returning to his beer and turning the television on. My stomach turns in a way I've felt many times before, and I blink frantically before drinking the rest of my beer with slow, meticulous movements.

"You were upset," he says after a while, his voice husky and deep. "That's all."