Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is my doing. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Word Prompt: Sedate

A single word meant to inspire immediate thought. Write what your imagination dictates.

Not beta'd.

The set of his brow narrows, his whole expression becoming pinched. I may not understand the reasons behind it, but I know I've managed to find another touchy subject.

"Most days, I can barely take care of myself," he says. His matter-of-fact tone isn't very persuasive, an attempt to convince himself perhaps, because it doesn't work on me.

"You look like you're doing okay to me."

He shakes his head, almost as though he's refusing to accept my words.

"I need to stay focused. Anything else would be irresponsible."

I don't like that he's being so hard on himself. I'm all for being driven, but he sounds more like my father than a twenty-something guy in college.

"Everybody needs a little fun in their life, and someone to share it with."

"That's what I have you for," he says, flashing me a grin. "I'm penciled in for thirty minutes of laughs twice a day."

I might have believed him if his smile wasn't so affected. His diplomacy in this situation has more to do with bringing the conversation to a close than it does being complimentary. At least I think it does.

"The entirety of your comic relief resting on my shoulders is a lot of pressure to be funny."

"Nah, no pressure. Just being around you just makes me feel less weighted down."

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out; his honesty is stupefying. Finding out exactly what he means would be the smarter thing to do, but I'm too busy trying to understand why he shoos me out of his life in one moment and makes me feel irreplaceable in the next. He wields his sincerity like a sword, and has a knack for leaving me reeling. Luckily for me, I'm just as good at avoiding things as he is.

"I'm like a drug. I sedate you with my charm, and once you feel comfortable, I let the crazy loose on you."

"I kind of like your crazy. It's a refreshing change from the mundane." His voice is so soft, tinged with the tiniest hint of resignation.

Labelling his life as prosaic is a cop-out. I am the most boring person I know, and my life is far from dull. I struggle to keep my tone light and joking. The message I'm speaking sits heavily in my heart. "Something tells me your life is anything but mundane. You provide rides to helpless commuters without ever shifting a gear, you dispense road-side assistance to injured crash victims while remaining cool, calm, and collected, plus you deliver life-saving lattes and offer book-carrying services to lowly, desperate students."

"It's all in a days work." He can't pull off nonchalance, even with a crooked half-smile painted on his lips. The emotions he keeps locked inside, along with the cause behind them, are lurking so close to the surface right now that I can practically see his skin toiling to contain them.

"What about your nights?" I ask.

"I try to keep rescues to the daytime hours. A hero needs his rest."

A picture of Zorro pops into my mind. It's fitting, given Masen's proclivity for defending the weak and vulnerable. He may not wear the black mask, but his identity is analogously hidden under layers of wit and deflection.

I snort. "I refuse to believe your only hobby is aiding the less fortunate. You must have at least one guilty pleasure."

"Sleep."

I change tactics. "Sleep is a necessity. What do you do for fun? I've only known you a few days, a couple of weeks if you count our email exchanges. What did you do before you met me?"

"The same things I've done since I met you. I don't understand what you're getting at."

I consider screaming 'your girlfriend' at him when it suddenly occurs to me that maybe she isn't his girlfriend at all. She could be his ex, or worse, his fuck buddy. He doesn't seem like a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, and it would go a long way towards explaining why he hasn't mentioned her. Still, it doesn't explain his reluctance to hang out—unless he thinks I'm coming on to him. And if he's worried about that, why does he flirt with me?

"I'm just trying to get to know you. Simple basic things like your favourite colour, why you chose Dartmouth, or whom you spend your time with. There have to be some basic choices that have gotten you to this point in your life."

His expression is agitated, betraying the tumultuous state of his mind. He's not happy that I haven't let him off the hook.

"Blue, because, and no one." His jaw clenches.

"Because is not an answer, and neither is no one. You live on a planet with seven billion people. You must have someone to hang out with. Otherwise you'd consider hanging out with me."

"Wow." He blinks hard, staring straight ahead. "I don't even…"

"Why is it so difficult for you to tell me about her?"

He does a double take, a quiet gasp escaping as he turns his head towards me. His cold, green stare frightens me a little, though I try not to let it show. When he turns away, I know the conversation is over.

Before I know it, he's pulling over to drop me off.

"Listen, Masen—"

He holds his hand up to silence me.

I sigh, grab may backpack, and get out of the car. To further hammer home his point, he reaches across the car to slam my door shut before I have the chance to do it. The loud noise startles me. I'd prefer yelling to this. At least it's a step above hand signals.

I turn and wave, feeling ashamed and contrite for wrecking the drive, possibly wrecking everything. I can't even blame my inability to see the signs. I saw them all and pushed past them because I wanted him to let me in. Now, I may be out for good.

He rolls the window down. The pain in his eyes is unbearable, and he doesn't try to hide it.

"I'm sorry," I say, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"People like you are part of the reason I'm here instead of at Harvard. You take one look at me and assume you know who I am. I'm so fucking sick of people telling me what to do and who I'm supposed to be."

"I'm not asking you to be anyone but who you are. I just wanted to know about the blonde on your phone. She's obviously important to you."

"Mind your own fucking business, Bella."

Between his cutting words, his angry glare, and the squeal of his tires, it's a wonder I'm still standing when he drives off.

A/N: A little longer. A little angsty. I had trouble with this one, not gonna lie.

I'm once again behind in review replies. Thanks for your patience. I appreciate the support more than you could know.

You can follow me on Twitter: (at sign)picklewinkle

Reviews are love, and it is Monday. Who can't use some extra love on a Monday?