Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.

Some of you have asked if this will be HEA – there's probably a 110% chance of that happening.

Chapter 3

BPOV

One week later

Fashion month is over. Thank the lord.

I think the rest of the world thinks we all take one big holiday after the utter madness of fashion month but really, it's just back to work, business as usual. Life as an Editor is never really what you would call quiet, besides, I love being busy. I thrive on it.

What I don't thrive on however is not being able to find my eye drops before I get off a long haul flight.

I wrap a long wool coat around my shoulders and make my way from the plane through security which is blissfully empty for this time of night. Unless it's particularly busy I typically refuse the offer of a buggy ride through the airport. I'm even grouchier than usual when I'm sitting for too long and after a long haul flight and then the inevitable cab journey – I feel like I need to stretch my legs some.

It's a beautifully clear October night and I take time in the ride on the way back to the city to look up at the sky and open the window a little to feel the icy breeze on my face which refreshes me. I've had the blanket from the plane on my lap the whole time and suddenly, being home in the city, I know just what to do with it.

I've thought about the homeless man every day since I've been away, not in an obsessive or creepy kind of way, but as I allow my thoughts to drift during one of the many inevitably boring meetings, I find myself thinking of him. What is he doing? Does he move around during the day, or have any kind of work? I don't even know how old he is, it's hard to say for someone who is understandably so unkempt.

I've seen his eyes though, those green eyes that crop up in my thoughts almost as often as the sound of his voice.

I couldn't contain my surprise when he spoke to me after Rosalie verbally assaulted me on the street. I don't know what shocked me more, the fact that he spoke to me or that I couldn't remember the last time someone had asked me anything about my welfare. After I stomped off with my sunglasses firmly set over my face, I had to stop a stray tear from falling.

Nothing says desperate and lonely like half-fantasizing over a stranger you've exchanged zero dialogue with.

Still, there's something about him, something that makes me want to give in and make all his problems go away.

If only I had someone to look out for me.

EPOV

If I thought that my first week living homeless on the street was rough, then the second was brutal.

Those thick ass perfect warm sweaters that I'm pretty sure the moody angel gave me? Stolen.

Food I managed to forage from behind the dumpster at the grocery store? Infested.

Number of times someone beat up my scrawny ass before realising I had nothing good left that they could steal? Once, but that was enough.

So yeah, this week has been pretty terrible. Also, the brow-haired angry angel who I now know is called Isabella, hasn't been around all week. I mean Christ, I'm pretty sure I could pick which one her apartment building is. Maybe she's sick, or maybe her probably husband has whisked her away to the Caribbean on some fucking yacht or some shit.

Yeah, he probably has a yacht, dickhead.

I laugh at my completely stupid assumption about her life and then realise that, ow, getting punched in the face and getting a black eye really puts a dampener on humour and that my probably fractured ribs don't take too kindly to laughter.

The first morning I figure she just didn't go running, because hey, we all need a day off sometimes, I suspect that isn't the case with this woman but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Then I had to make do with staring and judging all the other people that passed me throughout the day, but it just wasn't as fun, she's so much more than a hot angry woman in black with killer heels.

Then I didn't see her walk home, like at all and most days I do for sure. The days went on like this throughout the week and then I figured yeah, vacation or she's sick. I couldn't let myself consider the idea that she was purposely avoiding me. I said about two words to her and she looked like I'd tried to punch her in the stomach, at that time of the month too.

I'm midway through a pretend dialogue between Isabella and her yacht-toting husband when a sleek black car pulls up on the sidewalk pretty much straight in front of me. I see two shapely legs step from the car and I would bet every one of my last mortal possessions, of which there are not many, that it's Isabella.

I'm curled up on my side with my sleeping bad tucked right under my nose and my hoody just covering my face so that I'm still awake. My head is positioned, stupidly, so that I can only see her bottom half, not that I mind – I am a living and breathing man but she's carrying something towards me and I want to be able to see what it is.

The streets are more or less deserted, as they tend to be at 2am midweek but there's enough light from the street lamps that as I lift the hoody off of my face and look up at her, I'm rewarded with an uninterrupted view of her face which is usually covered by big ass scary sunglasses.

She stops as she sees me seeing her and almost looks like she's going to turn straight back around. I look pointedly at the bundle in her hand.

"I thought that you might need this more than me." Her voice is level and sure but the way she speaks is slow like she's trying to stop herself from saying something. She places the blanket down by my feet and backs away with small measured steps; she's not afraid, just cautious.

"What, you're not going to tuck me in?" I don't know where this cheekiness comes from, obviously she's beautiful and hey if she wants to go there then I am so on board but the look she gives me is a mix of pain and a sneer. Suddenly I'm a little bit afraid of the kind of pain those crazy shoes are capable of inflicting.

She's definitely about to walk away now but she cocks her head to the side and looks at my face carefully, I know she's seeing my very sexy bruises and cuts. I'm practically irresistible to women right now.

"What happened to you?" Her voice is softer now but still measured and slow, like she's talking to some kind of wild animal.

"Pfft. This? You should see the other guy, well, guys." A flash of hurt crosses her face, something I'm pretty sure I wasn't meant to see. She whirls around back to the car and I'm positive she's going to go home now to her probably warm penthouse apartment complete with douchebag yacht guy.

I'm curious when I don't hear the sound of an engine pulling away, instead she's rummaging through a bag in the trunk of a car, apparently finding what she needs she's over to me and suddenly I'm the one all confused and bent out of shape, more than before I mean.

This is the closest we've ever been physically and if she doesn't realise it then I certainly do. She bends down right in front of me and other than ever more-beautiful-than-ever face, I notice the heavy black circles under her eyes and consider for a second that even if she does have a cosy life waiting for her back at home, there's something that's not letting her rest.

I'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts to realise that she's dabbing some sort of antiseptic at my face and all of a sudden the whole thing stings like a motherfucker.

She's not put off by my cursing or moving away, she just carries on, only telling me to 'hold still' once.

I've been with girls before but in an odd way this feels like one of the most intimate moments I've ever shared with another human before. She doesn't know me and I certainly don't know her all that well but I feel like she's taking me all in as her eyes search my face and despite the sting, cleans my wounds and scrapes with a gentleness I wouldn't have expected.

Those beautiful brown eyes look me over once more and then gesture to the antiseptic pads and wipes that she's leaving me with. She looks me dead in the eye which honestly is equally intimidating and arousing and then leaves my side once more with little more than a parting whisper.

"Be safe, ok?"

I watch her back as she retreats back to the car and am left with little more than a singular thought.

What the hell just happened?

Happy Monday everybody!

Keep warm and I'll see you on Wednesday ;)

-Aurora