Draw Me In

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Six – You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello

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*~ Sweet precision and soft collision
Hearts about to palpitate
And I find it hard to separate ~*

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"Pay up."

"What? No."

"You landed on me. Those are the rules."

"I also rolled a six, which means my turn isn't up yet."

Yeah.

"That is complete and utter bollocks."

We're playing Monopoly.

Apparently, Emmett's favourite way to unwind after a show is to play possibly the longest, most exasperating board game ever.

I don't know why though, because –

"Jasper? Tell her."

"I don't know, man. I think she's right."

"What?"

– he seems to be getting more wound up by the second.

"Are you telling me I've been playing this game wrong my whole life?"

Rose cocks an eyebrow from her position opposite him. Because there are no tables in here, we're sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor, the board settled between us. "I think you've been cheating your whole life."

Emmett smirks. "Funny that you're the first one to ever call me out on it then."

My eyes dart between them as I listen to their banter. Rose may seem so cool and unaffected on the surface . . . but her eyes betray her; they smile even when her lips don't.

When I glance over to Alice who is sitting, not oh-so coincidentally, opposite Jasper, I have to push back a laugh; just as one looks away, the other will look back. And it goes on and on like this, as if they're playing a blind game of tennis.

Peering down at my hands, I allow myself a smile. This isn't so bad – it feels alright actually, to the point I find myself relaxing. And I'm glad I never backed out, because it looks like Alice got her guitarist, and Rose, her drummer.

Me? I'm sitting opposite the box, as I'm the banker. Obviously.

I yawn as I glance back up, covering my mouth with my hand and taking a look at my watch. My eyes widen a little as I see the time, and I'm suddenly very glad it's a Saturday tomorrow.

Standing slowly, I stretch out my stiff muscles, rolling my shoulders from side to side a little. I open my mouth to say be right back or something, but close it again when I notice the staring again, but this time talking, too.

Quietly, I tread along the soft carpet until I'm at the door. I take one last silent glance at the foursome before stepping outside. Leaning my back against the red, I let out a sigh as the silence greets me.

Hello, old friend.

Despite the easy atmosphere that had arisen, the back of my neck still prickled anxiously whenever I'd risk a wayward glance at this door. I had gathered that the two in there weren't the one's that had asked for me . . . so it must have been . . . the singer.

But five minutes had turned into ten, and ten, twenty. And I'd started to relax, thinking that maybe he really had made a mistake and had no desire to meet me what so-bloody-ever.

The thought was pleasing.

And now the security bloke seems to have vanished, I can probably sneak away and leave Rose and Alice to it (I won't be abandoning them here or anything – we took Alice's car), ring a taxi and be in bed by twelve.

Abruptly pleased with myself for all that I've managed today, I snap my eyes open – didn't even know I'd closed them – and step away from the door. On the way down the very long, very dark corridor, I pull out my mobile from my jean pocket and type out a text to Alice and Rose, telling them: really tired – gone home in taxi. Don't worry about me tonight – have fun! – x

Because I'm too busy grinning at a glowing screen to look where I'm going, I run into a wall or door or something.

Of course I do.

I pick my head up and think –

You're not a door.

You're a you.

"Sorry," I utter quickly, quietly, my gaze darting back down to my shoes. It's too dark to see, but I'm guessing it's one of the security people again. I step to the side in an attempt to pass, but so does he.

And again.

And again.

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I mutter, "Excuse me" and attempt to round him again, but he steps into my path before I can, his hand reaching out to grasp my upper arm.

Surprised, I jerk back a little, my head lifting. My mobile slips from my fingers as I say-gasp – "What are you – "

"Forgive me," the very not-security-guard voice says, his hand trailing down my arm as he reaches for my fallen mobile, his hair crazy and long and brushing against my hoodie as he leans down.

Dumfounded, I watch as the strangers body slinks down near my feet before rising again, oh-so slowly.

It should not be a surprise to see that his not-security voice matches a not-security face.

But it is.

It really, really is.

Oh. My mouth forms the word but doesn't say it.

Smiling softly in the hushed lights flickering only dimly overhead, Mr. Masen presses my phone into my hand. "Hello," he greets gently, like he's speaking to a baby fawn or something. "Leaving already?"

My brain process goes something like this:

Uh.

Um.

Umm?

And then –

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Wide eyed and already red, I take a step back. His fingers slide like water from my skin and I clutch my phone to my chest like it's a life preserver. "I was – I was just – because – " I stammer, not really saying anything.

The relief and feeling of accomplishment that had been sailing through my bloodstream only moments ago abruptly bubbles up before flittering away into tiny wisps of smoke, like it was never there in the first place. I have stopped preparing for this when it had stopped being a possibility, but now . . .

"Are you leaving?" he asks, trying to catch my eyes because I'm trying not to look into his. "I never got a chance to talk to you." He takes a step forward, closing the gap again.

Step back. Eyes on my shoes. My mind throws away the last bit of his words and focuses only on his question.

"Yeah," I say, so quietly, my gaze so intent on the carpet.

Silence, and then – "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

A nod at the floor. Truth be told, I'm thinking how if I'd only escaped a little earlier I could have managed to avoid this. I'm not not not thinking about seeing him on the stage earlier, with his head thrown back or his sombre voice.

He takes a step forward. I take one back.

"Would you consider staying for a little while?" he asks, voice low and soft and so different sounding to his singing voice but still really, really nice. "I can take you home after, if you'd like."

My heart thrums in my chest, and I can feel the strange heat rising to the back of my neck. This is so unprecedented, I think, and I'm so uncomfortable.

"No," I squeak out, to everything, to nothing. "It's alright."

Step forward, step back. And here I was earlier thinking that this crazy long corridor was a bad thing.

I guess that shows me.

Low, low voice – "I can't tempt you?"

I don't mean for my swallow to come out as a gulp, but it does anyway.

"Uh," I say shakily, my gaze burning bleeding craters into the carpet. My heart is racing so fast, I'm almost certain he can hear it. "I – "

"Bella!"

I almost feel like weeping in relief as Rose comes storming down the corridor. I spin around sharpish to see she has a half-frown on her face as she nears me, before it morphs into one of surprise as she glances behind me and up up up.

Her eyes widen. "Oh," she says.

"Hi," the singer greets, and I freeze like I've just had ice chucked on me because he sounds close. "You must be one of the friends."

Her brows rise. "That I am," she replies, her gaze darting to mine briefly. "Rosalie. And you're Mr. – "

"Just Edward, please," Edward interrupts, and I can hear the smudge of a smile in his voice.

She hums. "Well, I was just making sure Bella hadn't scarpered yet. We didn't want her to leave without us. So . . . " Her eyes flicker between Edward and I before settling on me. "You coming?" She gestures behind her, back towards the room with the red door.

My shoulders slump, but it's in part-way relief. "Yeah," I say quietly, following Rose closely as she departs back down the corridor.

And even though I'm watching my feet, I still stumble on thin air.

A hand on my arm in no time at all, because he wasn't far away. "You alright?"

I nod slowly, cheeks red, and pretend I don't feel his hand slip-sliding down my arm again, or the way his thumb drags across my ticklish palm.

I don't glance up.

But I can feel his gaze on me.

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A/N: *scarpers*

bollocks = nonsense, rubbish

ring = call

mobile = phone

Thanks for reading!