Author's Note: MY GOD. It's literally been ten years since I posted here. I had to recover my password to post this, yet here I am. Do you know what happened? I read Twilight again. It hits differently now that I'm twenty-eight than it did when I was eighteen, I'll say. But… I'm here. Perhaps if anyone is still lingering around from ten years ago, I may even update my old stories. But I am also old and have a full-time job and now sit here laughing at my author's notes about drowning in uni work from back then. Back then, I didn't have meals to cook, a house to clean, two dogs to look after, and a job that manages to occupy my weekdays AND weekends… Busy my ass. Anyway, the Quil/Claire paring always stood out to me, and it caught me again on the re-read. If anyone is around to read this… I hope you enjoy!

It was my thirteenth birthday, and I could think of nothing worse than being only thirteen. My mother cooed and told me how I was so grown up, but I could see no difference.

Before, I had thought thirteen was a magical age in which my puppy fat would burn away, my cheekbones would become pronounced, and my face would lose any roundness that remained from childhood. Instead, I woke up looking exactly the same.

I was still dumpy, frizzy-haired Claire. I wanted to howl at the unfairness of it. My older sister, Clementine (who I called Clem, mostly because she hated it), was slight and angular, proportionate in every way. Where my hair frizzed, hers hung straight and silky. Where I protruded, she was flat and toned. Although we had the same russet skin, hers was smooth and flawless, mine blemished and textured – a mere hint of what puberty held in store for me.

The absolute worst part about being thirteen, or aging at all, was that I could not, and never would, catch up to Quil. Although he never seemed to age, I could guess he was at least in his mid or late twenties. I would never be old enough for him to seriously consider.

Clem stuck her head around my door, embarrassing me away from the mirror I glumly examined myself in.

"Mom wants you to hurry up – they'll all be here soon." Her head retreated for only a second before popping back again, her grin devious. "Don't stare at yourself for too much longer."

Bitch. I rifled through the discarded mound of clothes on the floor, getting anxious. I had tried on almost everything I owned, throwing it onto the floor as soon as I had caught sight of myself in something too tight, too wrong, too babyish. In the end, after all that turmoil, I selected the outfit I had planned to wear anyway. The dress still sat too tight and self-consciously around my stomach and chest, but it was at least flattering of my waist and thighs.

I ambled down the stairs, taking in our cluttered kitchen and living room. The glass sliding door to the porch had been thrown open in my mother's hopes of making the space larger for guests, I supposed. She was bending over plates of snacks but readjusted herself when I appeared at the top of the stairs.

"There she is! The birthday girl!"

I gave her a smile I hoped didn't present as a grimace.

"Everyone will be here shortly. Emily and Sam, Quil, obviously, and the whole gang." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Your friends from school, too…"

I had only let her invite a small handful of close friends who wouldn't tease me for having a birthday like this. I was already being invited to parties with loose parental supervision and the promise of promiscuity.

"Just Stevie and Sophie, right?" I pressed hopefully.

Stevie's parents had named her after Stevie Nicks, but she was more girly and glamorous than her boho namesake. Sophie was the rambunctious tomboy of the group who would argue with the boys at school and spit into their drink when they weren't looking. I sat somewhere, awkwardly, in the middle of the girly-tomboy spectrum, not able to decide for myself.

"Yes – you didn't want me to invite anyone else, right?" Mom asked anxiously.

"No, no." I insisted. "Nobody else."

Clem charged by me as I made my way down the stairs.

"Where's Dad?" She asked.

"Out the back, setting up." Mom smiled, getting back to the food.

Lord knows she needed to, Quil and Sam's friends could eat. I followed Clem out to the porch to watch dad hopelessly dragging a foldout table from the shed. Clem didn't bother to offer her help. I gave her a distasteful look as I stalked past her to help Dad carry the table into the open space on the lawn.

"What?" She shrugged. "He's got it."

"Hi, darling." Dad smiled at me. "You shouldn't have to help on your birthday."

I smiled in a way that I hoped was cheerful and got on with the task, thankful to keep my mind busy.

After my dad and I dragged out a few extra tables, arranging them so they lined up in one long straight line, we got started on the fold out chairs. My mother and Clem came out with tablecloths to disguise the ugly plastic foldouts. By the time mom had arranged the platters of food and Clem was hanging fairy-lights in the tussle of trees on the outskirts of the lawn, the sun began to sink in the sky.

"Claire!" A voice called from the back porch.

I didn't have to turn to know who it was, but I still turned and ran regardless, my surroundings blurring around me until I crashed into the strong, warm arms he held outstretched for me.

"Quil." I murmured, inhaling his woodsy scent.

I lifted my head for my eyes to meet his, my favourite place. They were a warm brown butterscotch in the sunset, dancing in the reflection of my own. I could have stayed there until the sun died and rose again, but his arms slipped off me all too soon.

"Thirteen, hey?" He mused, pinching my cheek in an irritatingly childish manner. "Where did the time go?"

"It seems like it was just yesterday," My mother blabbered, tears brimming. "That you were turning three. Do you remember, Quil? Her fairy princess party?"

Chuckles surrounded me and I realised, with embarrassment, that Sam, Embry, Seth and Jared were also there, along with their wives, partners and children.

"I have that photo of him on my fridge still." Embry snickered. "Tiara and all."

"Only Claire would be able to get Quil in a tutu." Emily laughed, leaning down to hug me. She spoke quietly in my ear. "Happy birthday, Claire."

"Thanks." I smiled, glad to see them, despite their reminders of my obvious youth.

I felt even more self-conscious now that Quil was here. I cringed, picturing myself running towards him only moments ago. Only children run with glee, I tried to remind myself, watching Emily and Sam's twin boys already chasing each other around the lawn. They were still a few years younger than me, and I hoped it showed. Teenagers swagger, sigh, and toss their hair and I would do my best to uphold this façade.

As the afternoon dimmed to evening, more people arrived. Leah came, much like usual, stoic and by herself, followed by Stevie and Sophie, Colin and Brady. I sat on the grass outside with Stevie and Sophie, lazily keeping an eye on my cousins like Emily had asked, as the adults congregated inside for drinks and discussions I wish didn't bore me.

"Quil is here." Stevie pointed out.

"Quil is always here!" Sophie corrected her, tugging at the grass absentmindedly.

"Yes, but," Stevie shot a fleeting glance towards the open living room door, as if they could hear us from twenty yards away. "Our Claire is one year older."

"Quil's an idiot, but not stupid enough to jump a thirteen-year-old." Sophie snorted.

Sophie and Stevie had been in my life a long time, but Quil had been around longer. Although they always thought it strange for a twenty-something-year-old to hang out with me, they had become accustomed to his presence. He was often left to babysit all three of us over the years. Sophie and Quil kicked footballs around, Stevie tried to make him blush. There was an easy alliance between my three best friends.

However, the older I got, the more on edge I felt with him around. It was easier when I was seven, dragging Quil to the beach to look for shells or to teach me how to surf. It was fine when I was ten and make him practice my dance recitals with me. Yet in the last year or so, I had undeniably developed feelings that were unlike the older brother feelings I had for him before. Thinking of him as an older brother now made me shudder.

"Sophie is right." I sighed. "Obviously."

"He is pretty hot, I'll give him that." Stevie grinned while I shoved down my jealousy. "Maybe Claire just has a complex for older men."

"Ew." Sophie said.

Like my sister, Stevie was genetically blessed and could have requited complexes for any boy she desired. Sophie did nothing to maintain her hair or figure, but still could converse with boys our age. Even Sophie's short, choppy, boyish haircut framed her face perfectly. I was the runt of the litter, even away from my beautiful sister.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them.

"Well, he may not look at you in that way, Claire, but Quil still only has eyes for you." Stevie said, looking towards him as he emerged from the house to the porch.

His eyes briefly surveyed the yard until they rested on mine. He grinned. My heart fluttered.

"Presents, Claire!" He called, waving us over.

I begrudgingly got up, not looking forward to having all the attention on me.

"Don't be so down, Claire." Stevie turned to wink at me as she stalked towards Quil's waiting figure. "He might have gotten you something really naughty for your birthday."

"Stevie!" Sophie and I both exclaimed at the same time.

She laughed and skipped towards the house. Sophie ran after her, looking as if she'd like to make one of her football field tackles on Stevie's retreating figure. I lulled behind, hoping to catch even a moment alone with Quil on the porch.

As I reached him, he smiled, looking down on me in some complex way.

I opened my mouth to defeat the silence, but he beat me to it.

"Man, that Stevie is a handful." He grinned. "We all better watch out for that one."

My mouth remained opened. Had he heard that? Surely not from twenty yards away. I tried to consol myself, ration with myself, but there was a slight blush rising on Quil's cheeks that I did not like. I wouldn't be watching out for Stevie, I'd kill her.

"Um, presents, right?" I said in a high-pitched tone.

It was, as expected, an embarrassing affair opening presents in front of a crowd of people. It was definitely nice to get a stack of books from Leah, new boots from Emily and Sam (definitely Emily's idea, as Sam stared at the slight heel on them apprehensively), surf wax from Sophie (who was trying to lure me out surfing with her as often as possible), and a new phone from my parents and sister (Clem, I assumed, hadn't bothered to buy me anything and simply jotted her name on the card).

"Wow, mom and dad!" I blinked.

It wasn't anything special and high-tech like Stevie had, likely because her parents were loaded, but I knew it was expensive enough to have dented their savings.

"I'll look after it – I promise!" I said, giving them both a big hug.

"Don't worry about me at all." Clem muttered, looking with disinterest at her nails in the corner.

"Who's next?" Stevie asked, looking around the living room. "Quil?"

He looked embarrassed. "I'd – um – I'd like to give you mine later, Claire, in private."

"Yummy." Stevie whispered into my ear, and I cringed in embarrassment.

Although she whispered it, it was almost like half the room heard. Embry laughed out loud, Sam took a sharp intake of breath, Quil's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"My turn?" Stevie asked innocently, for everyone to hear now, obviously indifferent to the change of tone in the room.

I tore away the wrapping paper as cautiously as I could, all eyes on me now. There was a flash of something pink and lacy. As fast as I could I shoved the half-unwrapped package under my butt so it was invisible to the prying eyes.

"SOCKS." I almost yelled. "Thanks, Stevie. You're a real pal."

I had decided I would definitely kill her now, if I didn't die of embarrassment first. Unwrapping very grown-up underwear in front of your family and, of all people, Quil, was a very devious ploy only someone as brave enough as Stevie could muster.

There was a beat of silence.

"Right." My mother said slowly, taking in the scene in front of her. "How about some food, huh?"

Grateful for the tact of my mother, I led the way. When we arranged our seating outside, I carefully ensured I was sitting next to Stevie. Sophie took my other side, throwing me sympathetic glances. Quil sat across from me, shooting me shy smiles, like you would to a deranged person. My mother, sister and father had emerged with her labour of the day – mom had made an extensive roast lamb with every vegetable imaginable, my favourite. In fact, it was almost an entire carcass of lamb. She knew better than to serve regular portions to the pack of men who had gathered for the occasion.

As our guests burst into applause, I took the distraction to dig my nails into Stevie's knee.

"Are you trying to make me kill you?" I hissed into her ear.

She only grinned back, oblivious to death threats. "Just wanted to remind a certain someone that you were growing into your body."

I could feel Quil's eyes on us again, so I mustered a big, wide grin as my family brought over the meal. We all dug in, and I felt the soothing warmth of the food wash a calm sleepiness over me. I still hated Stevie for the moment but was glad for a home cooked meal and being able to make conversation with Quil over the candlelight despite the crowd around us. I watched the candles flicker in his eyes, the look of recognition and devotion every time I opened my mouth to speak.

It was dark by the time my parents disappeared to the kitchen, once again, reemerging with a fat white iced birthday cake. My dad held it, the candles lighting up his face. They illuminated a big, soppy grin through the darkness in the backyard. My eyes flickered upwards towards Quil, and I felt guilty for only thinking of his reation.

When the night eventually came to a close, people retreated. Emily and Sam were the first to go, with sleepy children and time by themselves tugging them away. Then Sophie and Stevie, because it was Sunday, and school called the following day. Then Seth, Brady, Colin and Leah. Finally, Quil lingered as my mother, father and sister began to move the dishes and remains of a night well spent back into our house. They had chased us away at offers of helping until we finally sat on the porch steps, the sound of taps and dishwashers running behind us.

"Did you have a good birthday?" He asked, nudging me.

I smiled, realising I had despite my reservations. "Yeah – it was a nice night. Disappointed you weren't in a tutu though."

He chuckled. "Maybe for your fourteenth."

"Good haul though." I said, patting the phone sitting in my lap. Quil had already added his number while I blushed beside him.

"That reminds me…" He said softly, rearranging himself to pull a small brown parcel from his pocket. "Your present."

He held it out to me. I tried not to let my fingers shake in anticipation as I unwrapped it. I carefully pulled the brown paper apart to reveal a woven bracelet with a single charm attached. I inspected it with a smile. It was obviously handmade, but intricate and delicate all the same. The bracelet was made from sturdy brown material, the charm appeared to be a wood carving. It was a teddy-bear.

"A bear…" I murmured.

"A Claire-Bear." He corrected, gently taking it from my grip so he could wrap the bracelet around my wrist. "I made it myself. Jake taught me how to carve wood, but I had to get help from my mom to weave the bracelet. I – I thought I would make you a charm every year, for your birthday, only if you liked it of course."

Although I wanted to cringe at the childhood nickname Quil had given me, I still felt a strong surge of pleasure. He had made me something, and not just something – jewlery. I blushed.

"Thanks Quil. I love it." I said honestly.

He beamed at me.

I internally cursed my father when he came out to remind Quil that it was a school night, and I was almost childish enough to use the "but it's my birthday" excuse before I caught myself. I was a teenager now, not a whiny child.

I walked Quil to the door and stood on my tippy-toes, him crouching down, so I could wrap my arms around his neck. I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs as he picked me up and swung me in a circle. I giggled, liking the excuse to tighten my grip.

"Goodnight, Claire-Bear." He sighed, giving me one last look as he set me down. "Happy birthday, you teen."

That evening, I lay in bed, arm resting next to my head. I twisted Quil's bracelet around my wrist, gently caressing the charm. Maybe he did see me as older, I thought to myself. Perhaps I wouldn't always be Claire-Bear to him, but a reminder wasn't so bad. Before I was unconscious, I heard my phone beep beside me.

Happy birthday, Clair-Bear!

It was Quil. With a sleepy smile, I clutched my phone to my chest, content enough to fall asleep. Like most nights, my dreams were intertwined with Quil's presence.