[Edit: 3 Sep 2021]

[+-5 years after writing this...it is still my personal favorite of my FF writings. Anyway, thank you for reading this, I hope you find some enjoyment in it.(I never expected to have so many Favs/Follows, thank you!)]

WARNINGS: slow burn (no seriously – like they only meet after the 15th chapter), character death, disfiguration, unrequited love, suicidal thoughts, stupid vampires, stupid werewolves/shifters, irregular chapter lengths, and dog jokes

PAIRINGS: Leah/Klaus, Caroline/Tyler, Elena/Damon, Elena/Stefan (implied), canon typical relationships for Twilight characters, Leah/Matt (implied)

The fan whoop whoops a gentle, but stale, semi-warm breeze. For something which was boasted at having 'magnificent air cooling properties'…it's useless. And after all the effort I took to get it too: scrounging up the cash, convincing Billy to let me use his truck, bribing Jacob away from the thing long enough to let me get it out the garage, and dealing with the cursed sales people…

Forks has, for the length of my paltry existence, never been anything except cold, damp and dull. The fact that I'm wishing for the cold, damp and dullness now is something of a shock to the very fabric of the universe, I'm sure. The heat, dare I say the 'warmth', of the past few weeks of summer have been nothing short of a humid hell.

For the first time ever Shakespeare's "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," makes a lick of sense. Because, honestly, before this week I never truly understood the concept 'hot'.

I swipe a hand over my forehead and scoff. I could be at the beach right now, could be throwing myself over the edge of a cliff and into the waiting arms of the ocean. Peace and calm comes from the hug of frigid waves, but I've denied myself this, denied myself many escapes from my reality because of Sam. Sam who commands me heart and spirit, both unwillingly.

I know that it is not he who keeps me from this in reality. My own stubbornness and inability to let Sam go digs sharpened claws through my ribs every time I see him smile and realize it will never be mine. So I avoid it, avoid the crashing waves at the beach, the pack lunches at Emily's, and slip away from Billy's full moon rituals. In these moments I howl alone, quiet, and only Raven hears.

As the fan whirs I close my eyes, leaning into it, it does nothing for the sweat beading on my skin, the clammy hollows of my elbows and knees.

"Global warming," I tell the fan, brows pinched. It whup-whups an agreeable response.

The clock on the wall says it's almost two, although it feels more like three years have passed this morning.

By logical deduction Seth should be barging in any moment to pillage the fridge. The glutton. Although, by proxy the whole pack is constructed from gluttons, but pre-wolf Seth ate just as much, only with less skill at burning it off. Realizing your kid brother has a six pack is weird as hell. To say I worried about him before he turned into a starving beast is cute. To say I worried about him now that he is one, is sobering.

It's not that I don't trust him or the others to watch over him. But I really don't. Despite his constant protests and whining, when the pack is together they are stupid. It doesn't help that the Alpha is so incredibly reckless and domineering. My concern for Seth is natural, probably more so than anything in this world. He is my blood, part of the stability and rational roots of my existence.

He also gives me ulcers when he flings himself through the air or runs head-first into danger. I'd ground him for the rest of existence if he would just take me seriously enough to listen.

The Volturi's attack feels like it might have been yesterday. The remembered fear and pain echoing through the whole pack at once, the loudest that of Seth, his mind nothing more than a child trying to hide from the monster under the bed. I would have ripped out every throat that day to cure his terror – perhaps it is good that there was no need to. I do not want to be a murderer, I do not want to be them.

Vampires, the concept is toxic where it floats in my head, colouring thoughts, and feelings in the crimson of blood and death.

"Did you cook?"

My head snaps up and added heat colours my cheeks. I didn't even hear him come in. And just as quickly the embarrassment morphs into annoyance. As if I haven't been feeding his monstrous stomach for three years, I scowl and call out a "Yeah." In a last ditch effort to acquire an escape from the heat, I pile what little hair can reach atop my head with a threadbare elastic. "Don't you dare start without me,"

There's a sounding ring of groans and I freeze, hand reaching for the door knob. For the first time in weeks I feel cold.

I breathe through my nose, eyes closed and hands clenching.

In the kitchen the pack stands around my veritable feast, their grubby paws hovering over food not made for them. Strays, my mind spits, the wolf brushing up under my skin, fire and ice.

Can I not know a moment's peace?

XXX

[I really wanted to add some words from Quileute, just so Leah could have more of a link to her ancestry. The online resources for it are few and far between, and don't give access to comprehensive vocabulary lists. The official Quileute page is wonderful, but sadly sparse. I'm about to pull my hair. As a linguist, I'm crying. I'm going to try to add hints to the tribe's history, but if I write anything inaccurate please let me know so I can fix it.]