A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts!

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

A blessed Memorial Day to all who are acknowledging the day and to those who've served or with family who've served. Thank you for your service and your sacrifice.


Chapter 7 – The Ferry Ride Back

The drive from the ferry to my parents' house was a matter of making a few twists and turns. Two rights, a left, then another right, and Edward and I were pulling into the sleepy driveway.

Now, this ride, like the ride in Seattle to the ferry, was also carried out mainly in silence. However, this silence was as different to the previous one as butterflies were to moths. Rather than my earlier panic of flying too close to the flame, anticipation fluttered in my stomach like eager wings. Where I'd always avoided eye contact with Edward, now I struggled to keep my eyes off him and on the road. Even better, I found his eyes already on me every time I glanced in his direction.

While I tapped in the garage code, Edward unloaded, grinning at me whenever he returned with another piece of heavy equipment. We worked quietly but quickly, trying not to wake anyone but anxious to be on our way. Whenever we passed one another, we exchanged sheepish smiles, bashful chuckles, and heated gazes that warmed me from scalp to toe.

When we were almost done, Charlie shuffled in through the door connecting the garage to the house. Yawning, in his slippers and ratty robe, his curly brown hair, which was beginning to gray at the temples, was in a frizzy disarray all too familiar to me. It was how my hair looked in the mornings. His sleepy brown eyes, which Charlie wiped with the heel of a hand, were also undeniably just like mine.

"Bells, you're later than I expected you."

"Sorry. There was a mix-up. Did we wake you guys?"

Charlie shook his head. "Your mom went to bed, but I knew you were coming with Alice tonight, so I wanted to stay up to help you girls unload." His eyes drifting to Edward, he quirked a brow. "At least, I thought that was the plan?"

"It was, but Alice's plans changed, and Edward volunteered in her place."

Now, Charlie raised both brows so high they almost met his hairline. He crossed his arms against his chest.

"Edward volunteered, did he now? Well, this is a setup we haven't seen before. Bells and Edward doing the drop-off."

Mortifyingly, he semi-sang this in an 'Edward and Bella sitting in a tree…' tune. I flushed hotly.

"Charlie," I said through clenched teeth, rolling up a pair of extension cords in a way I hoped conveyed my threat. Based on his ensuing chuckle, it did not.

"I'm just joking, Bells," he chuckled.

"Well, it wasn't funny. Do I look five years old? And I've asked you not to call me Bells."

That wiped the humor from Charlie's face. "Sorry, Bells- Bella, I didn't mean to embarrass you." He cleared his throat, and before things could descend into further awkwardness, Edward moved forward, respectfully pulling off his beanie. A riot of red waves spilled out and bounced as he shook Charlie's hand.

"Chief Swan, I apologize for the late hour. How are you?"

"I'm curious; that's how I am. How are you, young man?"

"I'm hanging in there."

"You sure are."

"Jay-sus, Charlie," I hissed.

Charlie held Edward's gaze for another beat. When Edward didn't flinch, Charlie nodded and turned his attention to the van.

"Anything left back there?"

"No, sir," Edward replied. "We've got everything squared away."

"Good job." Charlie then turned back to me. "Now, Bella, considering the time, it's probably better if you stay for the night."

I rolled my eyes. "Charlie, I live on my own in Seattle, and I'm neither afraid of the city nor of things that go bump at night. Don't forget I've got an active police chief for a dad and a retired police chief for a stepdad. I can protect myself."

"Stepdad, Bella?" he quietly chided, sounding more hurt than reprimanding. For some reason, this made me feel more abrasive.

"Besides, I made plans," I replied curtly.

"At this ungodly hour? What sort of plans and with who?"

"No one you know and nothing specific."

Charlie sighed.

Despite his occasionally annoying habits, such as drinking out of the same coffee mug all day without washing it, refusing to throw out that ratty robe, and trying to make up on all the years he missed by playing the part of overprotective father, I'd meant it when I told Edward that Charlie wasn't that bad. I tended to push his buttons; I knew I did. Most of the time, I couldn't help myself. He invited it by continuously trying, no matter what I said or did.

That night, however, I had more important things on my mind than a one-sided war with Charlie. Therefore, though I made sure he caught the roll of my eyes as I moved past him, I bit my tongue against anything further.

"I'll get her back to the mainland safely, sir," I heard Edward say.

"Oh, brother," I muttered.

"Thank you, Edward. But you know you can both stay – as long as you sleep on the couch, young man."

"Seriously, Charlie? That's laying the overprotectiveness act on too thickly. Look, I don't know what Edward's doing tonight, but I'm leaving. I'm just going to go grab some stuff from my room. Edward, I'll be right down if you're leaving with me. Otherwise, I'll bring you down a blanket for the couch Charlie offered."

"I'm leaving, too, Bella."

"Okay. 'Night, Charlie," I sing-songed and fluttered my fingers in an exaggerated farewell as I stepped into the house.

Quickly making my way to my room, I shut the door and sprinted to my full-length mirror. Although I'd performed that evening, my outfit– a midriff length hoodie I'd cut myself over a black leotard tucked into thigh-length denim shorts and my trusty, black Doc Martens – wasn't exactly date-night material. But I'd never really concerned myself with date-night outfits.

And was this a date night?

Debating whether I should change, I mentally sifted through my wardrobe. Did I own a date night dress? Should I do something with my hair? Or put on makeup? I pulled my beanie off and fluffed up my curls.

All this must've taken longer than I realized. A sudden knock startled me, and I realized I was out of time to change anyway. Sprinting away from the mirror, I moved toward the bedroom door.

Edward stood stiffly on the other side. His guitar bag was slung over somewhat slumped shoulders, which I found strange when those shoulders had just been hefting heavy equipment like they were sacs of cotton. His grim expression was made even more confusing after the heated smiles we'd exchanged minutes earlier. When he spoke, his voice had lost its previous warmth.

"Charlie asked me to hurry you up if you still plan on leaving. He wants to drive us before we miss the last ferry."

"Oh, okay. Guess that makes sense."

He wouldn't meet my gaze, his eyes roaming, then landing on my hair. Frowning darkly, Edward swallowed with apparent difficulty. His ensuing words, although a compliment, sounded dejected.

"You look like a really pretty girl, Bella. Are you ready?"

Throughout the short drive to the ferry, Edward remained silent, choosing to stare pensively through his window, his angular jaw locked. When he thanked Charlie for dropping us off, his voice was as off as it had been right after the evening's gig back in Seattle.

We made our way to the ferry's top level, where only a handful of individuals elected to brave the cool, late-night crossing back to the Seattle mainland.

"Do you want to stand at the railing again?"

"Why don't we sit down?" I suggested.

We headed toward the metal, green benches. Edward waited for me to sit first. I expected him to sit beside me. Instead, he rested his guitar case vertically in the space next to me and sat on its other side. Concealing a perplexed frown, I pretended to stare at the Bainbridge darkness as we left it behind. A cold breeze blew across the Puget.

"Are you cold?"

Despite his strained monotone, as if he were struggling to keep his tone even, I turned back to Edward with a smile.

"No, Edward. I've got my hoodie."

"But you left your hat at home," he pointed out. "I suppose you didn't want it to mess up your curls." Redirecting his gaze once again, he focused on everything but me.

I drew in a deep breath, pivoting toward him and forcing myself into his vision – though I had to list sideways to peer around the inanimate chaperone he'd placed between us.

"Edward? Can I tell you what I would like?"

His eyes shot to me, the sudden fervency in his gaze constricting my heart. "What would you like, Bella?"

"I would really like it if you played me something."

After a few heartbeats, he raised both brows and reached for his guitar case, pulling it off the seat. He settled it horizontally on the floor and opened the case, retrieving the guitar and situating it across his lap. Long fingers curved gracefully around the neck's frets with an alluring sort of skill, in itself mesmerizing. His forearm overhung the body's edge, those fingers floating expertly across its strings. He strummed a few chords, his eyes on his instrument.

"Anything in particular?"

"No."

I shut my eyes, already feeling lulled. Even if he'd limited his performance to just a melodious riff, notes rising and falling as his fingers recreated the chords his brilliance invented, it would've been enough. More than enough. It would've surpassed any request I could've made. But he didn't limit it to that. His gravelly, sonorous voice joined the strains.

"You want another song?
Here, I'll play you a good one
If you just keep me hangin' on this ferry ride

Why won't you look at me?
I wanna know what you see
You shut your eyes, won't let me be
the one you want, the one you need

I'll play another song
But caveat, there's more than that going on
Ridin' here and hangin' on this ferry ride

No, don't turn those browns away
I've had enough of fucking gray…"

With my eyes still shut, I chuckled while Edward's own amusement lingered in his voice as he sang the next line.

"And I know what you and I would make."

"What?" I asked, playing along.

"Let your mind fill that in however it may
but let's not leave this ferry just yet."

"Okay."

"So I'll play another song
and then another one
You want another one, my love?
I'll give you all of the above
and I'll play on and on and on
If it'll keep us hangin' on this ferry ride."

The last chord faded into the starry night.

In the ensuing silence, the ferry's motors chugged. The Sound's water swooshed. Everything continued as before…as if my world hadn't massively shifted amid lyrical prose composed on a ferry.

Sudden, startling applause erupted, and my eyes popped open.

A small crowd was gathered, a lucky few who were on the top level of the ferry on just the right night, at just the right time. Edward looked as surprised as me, eyes round and cheeks ruddy. He pulled off his beanie, raking a hand through his shaggy hair before pulling the beanie back on.

"That was amazing," one guy said amid a continuous slow clap. "Buddy, if you're not famous, you need to be. Can I catch you playing somewhere?"

When Edward's gaze met mine, I marveled at how, having wasted so much time trying not to look into his eyes, not to read his thoughts, I could so easily discern his question right now:

Do you want me to plug Olympia right now, when we were so close? So, so close?

I offered him an almost imperceptible head shake. Because a crowd gathered around, admiring our performance, was not what I wanted just then.

"No," he answered. "Sorry. But thanks for the compliment."

A wave of disappointed groans erupted, peppered with cries of disbelief and punctuated by outright horror.

"How is that possible?"

"You're the next Cobain!"

"Yeah, you should be famous!"

"You should be winning Grammys!"

Edward merely smiled, keeping his eyes on me. They asked why he wasn't performing professionally. They encouraged him to make a career out of music. They pleaded for an encore. Eventually, the crowd realized they wouldn't get another song or Edward's attention. One by begrudging one, they dispersed, offering praises as they went.

Surrounded by the evening's twinkling stars, Edward and I finally found ourselves relatively alone on the top level of the Bainbridge Island Ferry.

"Edward, that was…how do you come up with music and lyrics on the fly? I could never do that. It takes me weeks to compose a song, and they're nowhere near as good as yours."

It wasn't what I'd wanted to ask or say. Edward's green eyes sparkled in the darkness before he dropped them to his guitar, once again quietly strumming.

"Bella, you're a wonderful composer, and your voice…it's hypnotic to me." He sighed, smiling. "As for how I compose…well, it depends on what's inspiring me."

My heart raced. My frame trembled. My voice shook on my follow-up ramble, still unable to make myself ask what I wanted to know.

"You should play that at our next gig. Let's be honest, they're all there to hear you more than-"

"Bella, who are your plans with tonight?"

At the desperation in Edward's tone, my eyes shot to his. His emotions swirled in black and crimson, leeching into greens and golds and creating eyes the color of burning embers. His chest rose and fell in long, heaving breaths. In one swift motion, he slid closer.

My breath caught in my throat, heart crashing against my ribcage. When the rest of Edward's words poured out, they did so in an agitated rush, animated with a life of their own as if they overpowered him and he simply couldn't hold them back any longer.

"You told Charlie you had plans, and I know it's none of my business, but you went up to your room and fluffed up your hair as if…" – he swallowed hard, nostrils flaring – "as if you're not already the smartest, most talented, and most beautiful girl, never mind pretty. Please, just tell me, are your plans with that guy?"

"What guy?" I asked, too overwhelmed to keep up.

"The one whose bicep you signed. The one who called you 'pretty girl'" – his top lip curled in an indignant scowl – "as if that woefully insufficient description could ever sum you up." At my gaping expression, he added in a rumbling growl, "The asshole you gave your number to."

"Edward, I…"

Perhaps my delay was cruel, considering his apparent anguish, his preceding speech, and how his leg bounced fretfully, making the guitar on his lap rattle. He pulled off his beanie and fisted it hard in his grip while his fingers raked viciously back and forth across his shaggy mane.

But I had to pause because my heart hammered furiously. I felt lightheaded and breathless. Inhaling, I drew in his wonderfully soothing scent and exhaled it through narrowed lips. All the while, Edward took me in with the suspenseful mien of a defendant about to be sentenced. When I stood, his tense expression twisted into panic.

"Izzy, please don't-"

"Edward, I'm not going anywhere."

First, I lifted the guitar off of his jittery lap, extracted the fisted beanie from his grip, and then set the guitar in its case and the hat on top of it. With the toe of my boot, I poked the case out of the way.

Edward watched me silently until I fit into the space between his long legs. At that point, he drew in an audible gasp, his chest contracting and his shoulders pulling back. He maintained that rigid posture, seemingly holding his breath. When I slid sideways across his lap, he didn't twitch a muscle. Only the rounding of his eyes betrayed his shock.

Our gazes locked, brown and green swirling and melding organically, like the lyrics to Edward's song. Sliding an arm around his neck, I linked my arms over his shoulder. Throughout, I drew in the profound breaths Edward seemed determined to forego.

"Is this okay?" I asked, my voice shaking.

Edward's head rose and fell in a languid nod. But there was no hesitance in either the action or in his expression. Instead, he appeared to struggle with restraint, fighting to subdue an untamed tiger as if he feared a more vehement response would rattle the cage. Rouse the beast.

Cautiously, he eased an arm around the small of my back, hand skimming my clothing. Still, I felt his velvety heat cocoon my skin like a warm glove—soft and leathery kid gloves that calm skittish creatures. The hand settled on my hip like that of an explorer handling heretofore uncovered and priceless treasures: the Mona Lisa and the David.

Edward touched me as if I, to him, was the Izzy.

Half his mouth twitched, a discoverer's simultaneously unsure, awed, and slightly triumphant smile. Adam's Apple bobbing, Edward nestled his other hand across my thigh at the junction where my shorts ended and bare skin began. Only then did he exhale the breath he appeared to hold since I sat across his lap.

"Is this okay?" he countered, his breath washing over me in a long, summery gust.

"Edward, answer one of my questions, and I promise I'll answer all of yours."

"All right," he agreed.

"Who was that song you just played about?" Swallowing hard, with my heart's thundering taking up all the tight space between us, I specified, "Is it about me, Edward?"

His grip tightened, his precarious self-control slipping – the explorer now overwhelmingly eager, anxious to probe his bounty, almost overpowered by the urge, only marginally able to temper his impatience lest he ruin something delicate. Something fragile. I shivered when the fingers at my hip slipped under my shirt, grazing my skin. With his eyes on mine, gauging my reaction, he stroked me from hip to thigh, each circular pass concentric. Contained.

If he showed restraint, it was wasted restraint. Edward marked me with the first pass and branded me with his initial, searing touch. Each of his fingerprints was forever etched across my skin.

Truth be told, he marked me long before.

I stroked his nape, the pads of my fingers digging deeper and tugging his wispy, sensitive hairs. And finally, he answered me through a succession of stuttered breaths.

"Who else would it be about, Izzy?"

A series of broken sighs escaped me. Strange how, despite the Sound's icy wind, I felt engulfed by a tropical breeze – fiery and lush and swaying around me like soothing palms.

Edward continued stroking me, expanding his circumference, kneading with increased boldness. Reaching for his glasses, I carefully pulled them off and set them beside us on the bench.

"Your eyes are even more captivating than I realized."

"My eyes?" he snorted, his breathing accelerating and audible once again. My position on his lap afforded me a rare height advantage, and his breath tickling my neck and collarbone as I leaned in closer. Edward tipped back his head, and the last thing I saw before my eyelids fluttered closed were those translucent eyes shifting back and forth, searching my gaze.

His lips were cold yet cushiony. They feathered across my mouth with gauzy pressure. A dove's feathers. A tentative flight. Testing the perch. Or, simply teasing.

I couldn't be sure which. Frankly, it made no difference. Either way, the action elicited the same physiological reactions that kept me away from him for months – prickling skin and racing heart and rush of heat and the fear of combustion or a direct lightning strike, and all at once. So whether his kiss was cottony out of abundant caution or as a means to entice, I gasped at how stupidly I'd misinterpreted every electrifying, exhilarating sensation.

At my gasp, Edward's hands flew up and caged my face. One large palm spread across either side of my jaw, angling us. His tongue coaxed my lips wider open and swept in.

All caution, tentative timidness, or simple teasing erupted into a glorious blaze.

We ignited like wildfire, like a sweltering rush of heat. It blazed throughout our lips and limbs, crept up my lap, and scalded every particle in between.

Blindsided beyond my wildest dreams by our mutually electrifying and scorching fervor, we both groaned – groans that rumbled between us and roused us even more. Impulsively, I twisted and turned, bracing myself on Edward's shoulders while his grip secured my waist. Setting a leg on either side of his, I straddled his lap. When I wedged his hips between mine, Edward's tongue stilled, darting back as he hissed sharply against my lips.

"Is this still okay?" I whispered.

He laughed, a short, hasty laugh, then resumed our kiss with abandon.

His grip became a cast, a mold contoured to my shape, pliant and demanding all at once. Hands wandering uninhibited, he was a sculptor whose sole purpose was to learn and memorize my form—every plane, every dip, every groove. He traced my silhouette, hips to outer swells to shoulders to collarbone and back, gripping my backside and thighs, moving up to the small of my back. In contrast to his fervor, Edward drew me tenderly against his chest.

"Izzy…"

Susurrations imbued with sweet surrender raised every fine hair on my skin, and God…God, why had I forfeited months of this?

Likewise, his name erupted from me in a strangled whisper as we surfaced for air, still in a fiery frenzy. Open-mouthed kisses puckered along jaw lines and heated cheekbones. I tipped my face to the starry sky, allowing Edward to nuzzle my neck and draw skin between his lips. He suckled softly, teeth grazing my earlobe as he let out another raspy "Izzy…" before swiftly returning his mouth to mine.

Cradling his cheek, I let myself enjoy his jaw's rhythmic response. I felt intoxicated by his quiet grunts, enraptured by how beautifully all the breathy noises we made together sounded framed by the ferry's engines and by the Sound's lapping waters. It was a unique symphony.

My hand slid through his hair, its silky pliancy delectably incongruous with his demanding hands and mouth.

We drowned under this flood of sensation, only to resurface every few minutes, catching our breaths and then diving in again. For an earth-shattering moment, Edward and I ignored the world beyond the ferry.

Eventually, we rested forehead against forehead, panting, smiling, warm lips still nipping, icy noses rubbing together. Edward alternated between gently skimming his fingers through my hair and running his palms up and down my arms as if I needed that to warm me.

"I've been dying to run my hands through your curls."

I chuckled against his mouth. "My hair has always been an issue."

"Mm," he hummed. "Yeah, it must be hard, always wearing your naturally grown, organic crown."

I laughed, overwhelmed by his open admiration. "No one's ever described my hair quite that way. And that's not what I meant."

"It's what I meant. But you're shivering. Are you cold?"

"Edward, you've been asking me that all night."

"Because you've been shivering all night."

"So have you. Are you cold?"

He drew a bridge of kisses across my nose. "I don't think I'll ever be cold again."

"That's how I feel, too. Though, you still haven't answered my previous question."

His long-since kindled lips traced a smiley-face path from my cheek to my lips to the other cheek.

"Haven't I? I think I answered you thoroughly."

I laughed again. "Only indirectly."

He pulled back only enough to hold my gaze, smirking. "You call that indirect?"

Once again, I laughed. I couldn't stop. A helium-like buoyancy threatened to carry me off and forced me to grip Edward's hair to keep from floating away.

"You know what I mean."

He watched me through the riveted gaze of a man under a spell. "If you want the words, yeah. Yeah," he nodded, "the song is about you, Izzy. Of course, it is."

Nodding gratefully, I sighed and made confessions of my own.

"I didn't have any plans tonight, Edward. I only told Charlie that to get him off my back."

Edward released his own series of shaky breaths.

"What about those girls?" I asked.

"What girls?"

Quirking a brow, I cleared my throat. "'The things I'd do if you asked me to while singing a few verses in that voice,'" I mimicked, imitating the girl at the bar earlier. "Talk about assholes. Did you take them up on their offers?"

Edward threw back his head and laughed heartily while I sat transfixed by the carefree sound.

"Those girls." Puckering softly, he dappled dewy lips against mine like summer raindrops. "Izzy, I haven't looked at another girl since I first saw you."

That earned him another kiss. "I heard her propositioning you, practically handing you her panties on a silver salver. And believe me, I tried not to hear it."

Edward chuckled, once more brushing his lips against mine – soft strokes infused with so much feeling that his ensuing, reassuring words were rendered unnecessary but comforting.

"I'm here with you on a cold, early morning ferry ride, and there's no place in the universe I'd rather be right now, silver salvers and all."

The sublimely soothing combination of his words and tone made me draw in a deep breath and shut my eyes to absorb their perfection. I reopened with a smile.

"I didn't give that guy my number, Edward."

"You wrote something on the fucker's arm. The nerve, calling you 'Pretty Girl,'" he spat, scowling.

"I wrote 'No thanks' – in black Sharpie. He's gonna have a hell of a time washing that off."

Once again, burying his face against my neck, Edward howled in amusement.

The thing was, he was undeniably aroused; that had been clear from the moment I straddled his lap. It was a situation that grew – no pun intended – throughout our kiss and continued afterward. We'd more or less ignored it in favor of the more pressing developments between us – no pun intended. But it was growing – still, no pun intended – impossible to ignore with all the laughing and shaking.

"Sorry," Edward whispered, his face concealed in the crook of my neck as he carefully tried to adjust himself to minimize the bulge poking me.

I brushed my lips against his stubbly cheek. "No need to apologize or to readjust anything down there on my behalf." His gaze shot up, and I shrugged. "I'm on your lap, and you like me."

His shoulders shook with his amusement. But when he spoke, his voice was tenderly sober. "Like you? I'm miles beyond, like, Izzy. And I know this is against the rules, so-"

"What's against what rules?"

He looked up and raised a brow. "No relationships in the band, except the grandfathered relationship. Though Emmett knows how I feel about you. He enjoys teasing me about it a hell of a lot, too."

My head jerked back in surprise. "Does he?" Though, in the next moment, some things made more sense. Rose and his antics earlier that night, for one.

"Mhm," Edward nodded. "I think Rose knows too."

"Oh, if Emmett knows, Rose knows."

He snorted, then tipped his head questioningly. "Did you ever say anything to Rose or Alice?"

I shook my head. "No. I didn't even really admit it to myself 'til…Edward, I've been horrible to you."

"You weren't horrible," he said in one of those tones people use when they know you've been an asshole but are more than happy to absolve you.

I hung my head, shaking it from side to side. "It's just…I thought it would endanger the band, and I-"

Edward moved in swiftly and nipped my bottom lip. I drew in a sharp breath, more in surprise than pain, but he panicked.

"Shit, baby, did I hurt you?"

"Yeah. Lots." I pouted and jutted my lip, tapping my forefinger against it to demonstrate what I expected as reparations.

Chuckling, he kissed me tenderly. "Izzy, you weren't horrible," he insisted. "Had you been horrible, I wouldn't have been half out of my mind for you. I'm not that masochistic."

"Maybe you're half masochistic?"

He snorted. "I'll quit."

Again, I jerked back, further startled by Edward's careless shrug. "That's what I was going to say – that I'll quit the band."

"Edward, your talent, it's…I mean, your voice. Your songs. I don't even have the words to express their beauty. Edward, you're meant to be heard. You can't quit."

"Why not?" Another shrug, and then with neither pause nor hesitation, "If it's a choice between being a part of Olympia or a part of your life, I choose you. Look, I understand what the band means to you, and it means a lot to me, too. So, I understand what you're concerned about and why you put the 'No Relationships' rule in place. After all, there are historical precedents."

"Yes, there are! Thank you! I'm not just crazy, right?"

He smiled. "Maybe half crazy? Maybe you and I should form our own band: 'Half Crazy," – he kissed the tip of my nose – "featuring Half Masochistic.'"

"The other three would kill me. Not only would I be depriving Olympia of you, but then I'd have the nerve to merely feature you?"

He laughed, then added in a murmur, no less ardent for its solemnity, "Here's the thing, Izzy. I care about Olympia, but I'm falling in love with you. So, if quitting Olympia is the way to be with you, I'll quit."

The old me, the one I was before that moment, might've panicked at that declaration. Regardless of its titillatingly solid comfort, she might've jumped off Edward's lap. She may have balked at both the sentimentality and the threatened sacrifice. She might've at least thought to herself that it was all too much, too soon.

However, this me was also swiftly on her way to love, even if she wasn't ready to say the words, not as freely as Edward.

And love makes everything okay – more than okay. Love allows you to see beyond the night's never-ending darkness to the twinkling stars overhead, to the pair of incandescent emeralds glowing like heavenly bodies, brighter than every other constellation in between. Love will reveal options that, minutes earlier, seemed inconceivable or, at the very least, bad ideas. It'll open your eyes to the straightforward, simple solutions to conundrums that, minutes earlier, lacked an easy fix.

In other words, love will leave you starry-eyed and blind to everything else; in and of itself not a downfall if you know how to handle it.

"Don't quit the band, Edward. You're meant to be heard, and I can't have you sacrifice that for me."

Edward's brow furrowed as I laughed again and kissed him soundly, drawing his top lip between mine, then alternating with the bottom one, all while still laughing. Still floating high in the sky with those stars, blissful, and more…more at peace than I'd felt in months. The panacea to the problem inwardly plaguing me since Edward showed up to Olympia's tryouts, and I felt an inexplicable, consuming pull to him was ridiculously elementary. The entire time, it stared me in the face.

"Edward, here's the thing: Olympia isn't bound to anyone other than ourselves. We have no agents, no publicity managers. We make the rules – the five of us. If you and I want to be a couple," I shrugged much in the way he'd done so earlier, "then we'll be a couple."

"Alice was already hinting-"

"Don't worry about Alice. She's one of five band members, and despite tonight's fiasco, one of my best friends. I know her. She'll bitch, then she'll get over it."

He offered me one of those tentative, half frown-half smiles, then cradled my cheek. "I've dreamed of this, of you and me, for a while. I promise I'll never, ever hurt you." The fervency of his promise darkened his gaze. "I just want you to be sure you're okay with doing things this way."

I nodded. "I am. I don't know why I didn't see it from the beginning."

For a few moments, he searched my gaze, those lines of hesitation still etched across his forehead. Less pronounced ones appeared at the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them, probing. His grin grew by degrees, slowly persuaded by whatever he found until it extended from one ear to the other.

"Edward, will you play me that song next time we're on stage?"

"If you want me to, of course. I'll play you anything you want. Izzy," he whispered heatedly, "you're my inspiration. It's always been you, and it will always be you."


A/N: Thoughts?

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