Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

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Where the Lines Overlap

Season 2 - Looking Up

Tell me how (to feel about you now)

The hum of Carlisle's car drifted into the background, blending with the soft cadence of Edward and his parents' voices. They were talking, something about the plans for the following days, but their words were distant, muffled. I felt more like a passenger in my own mind, thoughts spiraling back to the last time I saw Mark—just yesterday, though it felt like a world away.

I remembered how it ended: the two of us standing there, inches apart, the tension thickening between us, wordless but unmistakable, stretching into a silence that felt endless. I could still see his face, his eyes searching mine as if he were waiting for something I didn't know how to give.

Realization hit, swift and quiet: I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to give in to that pull I'd been ignoring, to let him feel what I couldn't say. But I couldn't—not with Edward waiting at home.

Then, right on cue—as if the universe were watching—my phone had gone off in my pocket.

Mark's gaze softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, shadowed by something even sadder.

"You should get that," he murmured, stepping back.

And as I pulled out my phone and saw Edward's name, I knew any chance for words was gone.

I mumbled something about having to go, already feeling the hollow ache of everything I hadn't said. Mark only nodded, looking like he'd expected as much.

But before I could walk away, I stopped and turned back, the words tumbling out before I could think.

"Can you… wait? Just until I get back… before deciding about Kyle?"

He hesitated, the sadness in his eyes deepening as he nodded. Heavy and unresolved, his answer pressed down on me, but there was nothing left I could say. As I turned toward the elevator, his hand closed gently around my wrist, halting me, and I looked back, feeling the pull of something unfinished between us.

"Just so you know... I am too," he whispered, voice barely above a murmur, yet it was enough.

I knew what he meant all too well. It was the answer to the words I hadn't dared to say myself, the words that had caught in my throat when I told him 'I know I am'. I hadn't needed to say it all; he'd understood me perfectly without needing to hear the rest.

And now, as Mr. C's car rolled through the streets of Olympia, all I could feel was the quiet pull back to that moment where everything between Mark and me had shifted, to everything I'd left unsaid, and everything he'd left me to think about.

"Jazz?" Edward's voice cut through the haze, drawing me back to the present.

I blinked, realizing we'd arrived, the car idling just outside my house. Edward was looking at me, waiting, his expression soft with concern.

A pang of guilt twisted in my chest.

I'd spent the entire drive lost in thoughts of Mark, with Edward right beside me, oblivious to the distance between us. I glanced away before bringing my eyes back to his and forced a smile, but even to me, it felt hollow.

Edward's eyes narrowed.

"You've been quiet all the way here. What's wrong?"

My heart jumped, but I managed a shrug, keeping my expression as neutral as I could.

"Just… thinking," I murmured, hoping he'd leave it there.

But Edward's gaze didn't waver.

"Is this about dinner with our families?" he asked, voice softer now, careful. "Because you don't have to… you know. Not yet, if you're not ready."

I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of that decision settle over me. This was the moment I'd decided to tell my family about us—to come out to them, to stop hiding what Edward and I shared. The thought stirred a ripple of anxiety, but also a kind of calm resolve. I turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

"No, Edward. I've made up my mind," I said, my voice firmer than I'd expected. "I don't want to keep hiding. Not from them—not anymore."

He studied me for a long moment, the lines of worry easing just slightly. Then he nodded, a small, steady smile breaking through.

Edward and I climbed out of the car, the cool evening air settling around us as I turned back to say goodbye to Carlisle and Esme. They offered me encouraging smiles.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. C." I managed quietly.

Carlisle gave me a reassuring nod, and Esme squeezed my shoulder, her warmth a small but appreciated comfort.

Edward moved closer, brushing a soft kiss against my temple, his hand lingering on my arm.

"I'll be here with you," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

I closed my eyes briefly, anchoring myself in that moment despite the anxiety creeping in.

When I looked up, our eyes met, and the words slipped out from both of us at the same time.

"I love you," we whispered.

We shared a quiet chuckle, the ease of it lightening the heaviness I carried, even if only for a moment. I forced a smile, feeling a bittersweet ache tightening in my chest.

"I love you more," I murmured.

Our hands grazed in that familiar, subtle way, fingertips brushing, almost tangling—caught in the longing for a touch we had to restrain here. Just as I was about to reach out, Edward's gaze shifted past me, his hand withdrawing.

I turned, my stomach churning at the sight of my parents standing at the open door.

My momma's face lit up, her smile wide and bright as she waved, and my sister followed suit, her enthusiasm shining as she called out my nickname.

I moved to match their energy, though each step toward them felt stiffer than the last. My father's expression stayed measured, his gaze fixed somewhere behind me.

It didn't take long to figure out who he was looking at. I glanced back, catching sight of Edward still by the car, watching me with his usual, unwavering patience. When I turned back, my father's eyes were on me again, a shadow of suspicion sharpening his features. He said nothing, but the question hovered in his stare, heavy and impossible to ignore.

"Hello, Father," I greeted, keeping my voice level.

He responded with a nod, his gaze unreadable before he turned and stepped inside. A spike of anxiety shot through me, my pulse quickening as I watched him go.

I exhaled quietly, forcing a smile for my mother and sister as we followed him in.

My momma's voice drifted over my shoulder, soft and welcoming.

"How was the trip, Jayjay?" she asked, her familiar tone settling a little of my nerves.

Before I could answer, my sister's voice cut in, bright and animated as ever.

"Did you sleep on the flights?" Rosalie babbled on without waiting. "Six hours isn't long, but you've got to be rested—I have so many things planned!"

I managed a smile, her energy washing over me like a warm gust, sweeping away the lingering tension from my father's silence. The familiar rhythm of home wrapped around me, and I felt the load of months apart ease from my shoulders. I hadn't realized just how much I missed them—my momma's gentle presence, Rosalie's boundless chatter, even the way my father's quiet formality kept things in balance.

After a few minutes of catching up, I finally slipped away to my room. Closing the door behind me, I took a slow breath, looking around at the space that felt untouched since I'd left. Memories of my last birthday and the rush of realizing I was in love with Edward felt strangely distant, as if they'd happened in another life. So much had changed since then, in ways I hadn't anticipated.

I sank heavily onto the bed, feeling the turmoil of my emotions swirl restlessly inside me. Just months ago, I'd thought things were complicated—realizing I was in love with my childhood best friend, confessing to him, and navigating my feelings. But now… now everything was tangled in ways I hadn't even imagined—I was about to come out to my family with my boyfriend and his family present. I was going to expose a part of my life, of myself, that I was still learning about… and all that while trying to make sense of my feelings for Mark, who I'd asked to wait for me while I didn't even know what for.

I exhaled, my shoulders slumping under the pressure of what I couldn't quite say out loud.

Without thinking, I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over the screen as I opened my chat with Mark. My eyes lingered on his last message, the words still fresh, like he'd just sent them.

"To hold back an answer, no. To wait, yes."

I could almost hear his voice as I read it, the subtle longing there, barely hidden. I'd asked if four days was too long to wait—for what, I didn't know yet. All I'd wanted was more time before he made any decision about going back to Kyle. Mark's response had been clear enough—he could hold off for the days I'd asked for, but the waiting, the wanting to see me, was already stretching thin.

Before I could stop myself, I typed, 'I already miss—' The words lingered on the screen, an echo of everything that swirled inside me. But a flash of guilt twisted in my chest, and I erased the message, the screen going blank under the hard press of my thumb.

With a sigh, I tossed the phone onto the armchair across the room, sinking back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The silence enveloped me, but it only seemed to amplify the noise in my mind, a constant drumbeat of all the ways I felt like a jerk—for leaving Mark waiting, for falling for him while being with Edward, while loving Edward, for letting myself be pulled in so many directions, for wanting too much.

I squeezed my eyes shut, admonishing myself harder than even my father could.

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I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of my shirt for what must've been the fifth time. My reflection stared back, unaltered, yet something about it felt foreign—as if I were looking at a stranger dressed in my skin. My hand drifted to the buttons, smoothing down the fabric that refused to settle. From downstairs, the sound of clinking glasses and muffled voices filtered up, a low hum of conversation that sent my heart lurching into a faster beat.

Edward had texted me when they'd arrived, a simple We're here, though I could picture him right now, likely standing with my mom, politely nodding while my dad said something vaguely disapproving or too formal. Just the thought brought a spike of nerves, an itch of anticipation in the back of my mind. Tonight was the night. No hiding or half-formed answers. I was going to come out to my family, to my father, about Edward and me.

My stomach twisted at the thought, and I looked down, bracing myself on the edge of the dresser. I had expected anxiety, but this…this was more. It was everything I'd shoved down these past few days coming back to haunt me, and Mark's words replayed, uninvited. The way he'd looked at me when I'd admitted I was in love without saying it and when he'd returned the sentiment—that unspoken understanding between us still clung to my chest, heavy, unresolved.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to look back up, meeting my own gaze. This night was supposed to be about family, about Edward and me finally being…real, here, where we'd grown up. But it felt like I was at the edge of something so much bigger. A line that, once crossed, I wouldn't be able to step back from. And that scared me—more than anything.

Outside my door, footsteps echoed up the stairs, a reminder that they were waiting, that I couldn't stay up here forever.

I glanced down at my phone for the sixth time, willing Mark's name to pop up. The message I'd sent earlier—Are you home?—sat unread, taunting me with its silence. My thumb hovered over the screen, a nervous reflex, when a soft knock pulled me back. I looked up to see Edward cracking the door open, his eyes warm as he leaned in.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to release the tension locked in my shoulders.

"Yeah," I managed, and he slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His kind smile was a balm against the whirlpool of emotions I'd been wrestling with.

"I'm right here," he said, his gaze intent. "Whatever happens tonight... I'm here with you, no matter what."

The words eased some of the tightness in my chest, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"I'm freaking out, Edward. You have no idea."

Edward stepped closer, resting a hand on my arm.

"Love, you don't have to do this, you know," he offered, his voice soft.

But I shook my head. My decision was made, and I wasn't backing down.

"No. I want to," I said, the words filled with quiet determination. "I need to."

He nodded, respect clear in his gaze.

"Alright then. But let's not keep them waiting any longer," he said, flashing a reassuring smile.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a slow, lingering kiss. For a moment, the world stilled—only to be jolted back by the sharp buzzing of my phone against my leg.

Anxiety spiked, my pulse racing in response.

"Just give me a minute," I murmured, trying to mask my agitation.

Edward nodded, seemingly unaware of my stalling, and left with a final, encouraging glance.

As soon as he was gone, I pulled out my phone, and Mark's reply lit up the screen.

Yeah. Studying.

I felt a small, involuntary smile tug at my mouth and typed back.

Alone?

My heart pounded as I watched the typing bubble appear and vanish before the response arrived.

Yeah, Mr. Possessive. Relieved?

I couldn't help a soft laugh, but a pang of guilt settled in right after. Swallowing, I replied.

I'm sorry. Just ignore my messages. Erase them.

The typing bubble appeared again, and I waited, uncertain, even afraid of what he'd say next.

I'm not complaining… Just wish I could act the same.

I stared at the screen, words catching in my throat. After a long moment, I typed, letting my fingers move without thought.

I wish it weren't this complicated… just know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I left.

The admission lingered on the screen, and I felt its impact like a new line drawn in the sand.

I hadn't expected Mark to respond. That last message had been a raw confession, one I hadn't dared hope he'd answer. But as I took one final glance in the mirror and turned off my light, my phone vibrated again. I paused at the top of the stairs, heart pounding as I read his latest reply:

Guess now you have a glimpse of how I feel since we met.

I felt fuzzy all over, and I couldn't stop the small, involuntary smile that tugged at my lips.

Mark had felt this way all along. The knowledge sat inside me, bringing a new kind of confidence, a quiet joy. With a deep breath, I started down the stairs, that assurance anchoring me, pushing aside the nerves and fear. For the first time tonight, I felt sure of myself, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

But as I reached the bottom and my eyes fell on Edward, waiting for me with that familiar, loving gaze, a flood of remorse surged through me, acute and unrelenting. The confidence slipped from my shoulders, replaced by a cold, sinking realization.

I was completely and utterly caught in a huge mess.

I loved Edward, maybe even more deeply each day, but Mark… whatever was growing between us felt like it had a life of its own, demanding space and attention in ways I hadn't expected. The joy I'd felt seconds ago twisted into something heavier, leaving me staring at Edward with tangled feelings in my chest, knowing that every step tonight would be haunted by the pull of this impossible choice.

As I stood there, grappling with the burden of my own feelings, I felt a gentle hand slip into mine. I turned to find my mother beside me, her expression soft but searching.

"Come with me," she murmured, barely louder than a breath.

Without a word, I let her guide me out to the yard. The night air was cool, brushing against my skin and grounding me as she stopped, turned, and took my face in her hands. Her gaze was unwavering, filled with a tenderness I hadn't realized I'd needed until that moment.

"I love you, Jayjay," she said, her voice gentle. "And that will never change."

My brow furrowed in confusion, a laugh escaping before I could help it.

"I… I know that, Momma. And I love you too.

She reached out, brushing my cheek with a loving touch.

"I've watched you grow, Jayjay. Seen every part of you that makes you who you are—your strength, your kindness, your quiet courage. Nothing in this world could make me stop loving you." Her gaze lingered, intense and unblinking, as though she were trying to seal this moment in her memory. "Sometimes, I think about how precious these moments are, how life can be so unexpected. Just remember, you'll always have me, no matter what."

I nodded, a puzzled smile widening my lips.

"Momma, I know all this…" I frowned, a faint laugh escaping. "Why are you talking like someone's dying?"

She laughed softly, the sound sweet and familiar, and I couldn't help but join in. But as her laughter faded, her eyes grew serious, and she leaned closer.

"I know," she said softly.

"You…know?" I asked, confused.

She held my hands, her fingers gentle and comforting.

"About you and Edward." She explained, her words sinking like stones into still water.

I sucked in a breath, the air catching in my throat.

"Don't be surprised, Jayjay. I brought you into this world. I know you—inside and out."

She knew. And she accepted. A wave of something close to relief hit me, though my voice shook as I asked,

"Since when?"

A small, knowing smile played on her lips.

"Since before you knew it yourself."

The tension drained from my shoulders, though the question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Do you… hate me for it?"

Her eyes softened, and she pulled me close, her embrace soothing.

"Jasper, I could never hate you."

I closed my eyes, hugging her tightly, the words tumbling out.

"I love you, Momma. Thank you."

She pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, her expression one of calm resolve.

"Just be strong, my boy. Stand your ground, no matter what." She took a deep breath, a faint worry crossing her gaze. "And… wait until after dinner."

I nodded, feeling the force of her advice take hold, giving me the strength I knew I'd need tonight. Whatever I had to face, I could handle it—with her by my side.

Hand in hand, we walked back inside.

Dinner had been… nice, in a way I hadn't expected. Conversation flowed easily, laughter laced through each story shared, and with each passing moment, I felt the tension in my chest easing. As we gathered in the yard, everyone holding drinks, I took a slow look around at the people who meant the most to Edward and me.

My momma stood with Esme and Rosalie, their heads close together, laughter warming the air between them. Carlisle and Jasper Senior spoke off to the side, my father's expression serious, but not unpleasant. It felt right, seeing them all together. And yet, the reason I'd planned this night hadn't faded. The steady pulse of purpose was still there, pushing me forward.

I caught my mother's gaze, waiting until she met my eyes. When she gave me a small, reassuring nod, I knew it was time.

I stood, walking toward my father. His expression hardened the moment he saw me approach, his face settling into something more guarded, and I felt my nerves tightening again. But this was my moment. No backing down now.

"Father," I said quietly, "can we talk?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded.

"Of course," he said, his tone clipped.

He followed me to the edge of the yard, where the fence stretched under the dim light. The silence deepened as we stopped, and I felt the sharpness of his gaze on me, his posture stiff with expectation.

I took a deep breath, feeling my resolve solidify.

"Father, I… I wanted to tell you that I'm seeing someone. And it's serious."

He didn't react, his face unreadable. I swallowed and forced myself to continue.

"I love him, and I… I want to spend my life with him."

A flicker of shock crossed his face, but then his mouth pressed into a tight line, his voice cold and sharp.

"Him?!"

I felt the blood drain from my face, but I held my ground.

"Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice from shuddering. "Him. I'm with Edward, Father. We've been together since before we moved."

The response was immediate—a brutal slap I barely saw coming. The sting exploded across my cheek, and I staggered back, blinking against the sudden rush of pain. My head swam, but I stayed on my feet, refusing to let him see me fall.

"How could you, Alexander?" His voice was a low growl, thick with disgust. I held his gaze, chest tight, but didn't speak.

Before I could brace myself, he swung again. This time, the slap was harder, knocking me back a step. My cheek burned, the shock drawing everything into a harsh, surreal slow-motion—but I stood firm. I met his eyes with all the defiance I could muster.

"Stay back!" I said sharply, meeting Edward's worried gaze as he started forward. He was coming to intervene, but I didn't want anyone involved—this was my fight.

"Major, please—calm down!" Carlisle's voice was earnest, trying to keep my father at bay.

"Christopher!" My mother's voice rang out, filled with shock from behind us.

But my father was beyond reason, his fury growing.

"You have no right to disgrace this family," he hissed, hands trembling. His eyes locked onto me again, a venomous glare twisting his face. "This is despicable, Alexander. I won't allow it. I won't have my son become a faggot!"

Another slap came, cracking across my cheek so violently I stumbled back. My head spun. This time, my legs gave way, and I dropped to one knee. But even on the ground, I glared up at him, refusing to look away.

Carlisle stepped in, gripping my father's arms to restrain him.

"What are you gonna do, Father?" I managed through gritted teeth. "Beat it out of me?"

Carlisle pulled at my father, trying to subdue him, but it was no use. My father twisted free of his grip, his rage blazing. He stepped toward me, hands gripping my shoulders and forcing me up with such force it burned. Wrath flared in his eyes

"I'll never let you be this—aberration." The word spat from his mouth like poison.

But then, something changed. His expression faltered, the anger fading as his face went pale. His breath hitched, a strange, strangled gasp escaping him. His hands dropped from my shoulders, fingers clawing at his chest, his eyes widening in confusion—something almost pleading behind them.

I stared, still braced, my chest heaving, trying to process the sudden change. My mind scrambled to keep up, caught between defense and disbelief.

"Dad?" The word slipped out, barely a whisper, my voice cracking. And then it hit me, searing, as he staggered back. "Dad!"

My heart jolted, panic clawing up my throat as he slumped against the fence, his knees buckling beneath him.

"No!" Panic flooded me, and I rushed toward him.

But my mother was already there, kneeling beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to hold him up.

Carlisle was at his side in an instant, his tone brisk as he turned to Edward.

"Call 911. Now."

Edward's phone was already on his ear. His voice was urgent as he relayed our address, the tension in the air thickening with every second.

My heartbeat roared in my ears as I watched my father's face, pale and twisted with pain. A cold wave of guilt crashed over me, sinking into my bones.

This was happening because of me. I had done this.

Carlisle worked quickly, his hands on my father, assessing him.

"Stay with me, Major. Help's on the way."

I stood frozen, my breath caught in my chest, hands quivering as I stared at my father. The world felt like it was crumbling around me.

Was it because of what had just happened—or because I felt responsible?

Probably both.

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.

.

The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the soft murmurs and shuffling steps of nurses and doctors passing by. I paced back and forth, each step echoing in the sterile stillness, but no amount of movement could shake the knot of guilt tightening around my chest. My mother and sister sat with Esme, their faces pale and drawn. Edward was close, his hand on my mother's shoulder, offering quiet strength as she leaned into him. He'd been his usual self during dinner—present, grounded, the Edward I knew. But now, in this cold, lifeless hallway, something felt off.

I tried to focus on my own thoughts, on the mess I'd made, swallowing down the hard lump in my throat. I'd spent years telling myself I hated my father, maybe even resented him. But now, seeing him on the verge of life and death because of me—because of my confession—I knew I'd been wrong. I didn't hate him. I didn't want him to die. And certainly not because of this, not because my truth had cost him so much.

The thought twisted painfully, and I clenched my jaw as Edward approached. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, familiar but somehow… detached, as though he weren't fully here. His words were gentle and his eyes were on me, but there was something almost veiled, a flicker of reservation I couldn't name but couldn't ignore either.

"You're not responsible for this, Jasper," he murmured. "His reaction isn't something you can control. This isn't on you."

I forced a nod, but the weight on my chest didn't budge. Deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was my fault—that my decision to come out had pushed everything to this breaking point. Telling the truth, the truth that had always been mine to bear alone, had set all of this in motion, like a weapon that had backfired.

Just then, Carlisle came through the doors, his face drawn, with another doctor by his side. He approached my mother, taking a soft breath before speaking in a low, solemn tone.

"This is Dr. Jordan Welsh," he said quietly, gesturing to the man beside him. "He's overseeing the Major's case."

Dr. Welsh stepped forward, his expression serious as he addressed us.

"The Major is stable," he began. "He went into cardiac arrest, and there was swelling in his brain, so we've placed him in an induced coma. He's under observation in the ICU. We'll know more in a few hours."

The words hung in the air, cold and final. My mother buried her face in her hands, her quiet sobs filling the silence. The walls seemed to close in around me, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to my skin, suffocating.

"I need some air," I muttered, barely finding my voice.

I slipped out, walking quickly until I found myself in the dimly lit parking lot, my thoughts a chaotic whirl of guilt, regret, and dread.

Outside, the cold air bit at my skin, but the chill did nothing to ease the compression in my chest. I dragged my hands through my hair, clutching at it as if the pull might ground me. I wandered aimlessly between parked cars, struggling to breathe past the knot in my throat. My mind raced with the awful thought—what if he didn't make it? What if my decision, my truth, had brought this upon him?

Desperate for some kind of relief, a release from the crushing guilt, I reached for my phone. Without thinking, I dialed Mark. He answered on the second ring.

"Jasper?" His voice was gentle, grounding me instantly.

I couldn't hold back anymore. The sobs tore from my throat, raw and uncontrolled, breaking through in waves I couldn't stop.

"Hey… hey, I'm here," he murmured, his voice soothing as I fell apart, barely able to breathe between gasps. "Just breathe, okay? What happened?"

Between shaky breaths, I tried to explain. The words crumbled between gasps, each one scraping its way out in fragments.

"He… he had a heart attack, Mark… my father… it was because of me, and now he's in a coma. It's all my fault." I started.

Mark listened without interrupting, letting me unravel in my messy, tear-streaked confession. His silence was comforting, like he was absorbing it all, letting me empty out the storm inside me.

At some point of my babbling, I realized it must be late.

"What time is it?" I managed to blurt out.

"It's past one," he answered softly. "But don't worry about that, okay?"

"I'm sorry for calling… for all of this," I mumbled, pressing the heel of my hand against my eyes.

"Jasper, you don't need to be sorry. I'm here for you, any time." He paused, then added gently, "Where's Edward?"

"He's inside," I whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. "With my family."

Mark was silent for a beat, then he said,

"I'm so sorry this happened, Jasper. I wish I could be there with you, but right now, your family… they need you. You should be with them."

A hollow ache twisted in my chest.

"I just… I need you, Mark."

"I know," he said softly, his voice layered with a sadness that somehow calmed me. "But go back inside, alright? Be there for them, for yourself. You'll get through this, but they need you right now." His quiet strength struck me, and I thought of how honorable he was, how selflessly he always seemed to act. "Promise me you'll go back in," he said, his voice gentle yet firm.

I took a shuddering breath.

"I promise. I'll go back inside."

"Good," he murmured, relief evident in his tone. "And keep me updated, okay? I'll be here."

"Can I… can I call you again?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Sure thing. Anytime. I'm here for you," he assured me.

The words I wanted to say hung heavy on my tongue—I miss you. But I swallowed them back, holding onto the silence.

"Thank you, Mark," I managed, and we said our goodbyes. After the call ended, I felt the weight lift, even if just a little.

As I pocketed my phone, the familiar sound of Edward's voice calling my name tugged me back to reality. I caught sight of him in the distance scanning the parking lot, his gaze searching. Concern etched across his face. The moment he saw me, he started walking toward me, as if drawn to the strain that still clung to my chest.

A bitter thought struck me—maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. It seemed that every time my mind drifted to Mark, or I reached out to him, Edward would appear, as if summoned by the conflict I was wrestling with.

I hesitated. What had just passed between Mark and me still lingered. It pulled me in a direction I couldn't fully name. But here was Edward, standing just a few feet away, his presence an anchor I'd always relied on—except now, it felt less like an anchor and more like an unsettled tide. The quiet chaos within me seemed to echo louder, pushing me to keep moving, to meet him halfway, despite the dissonance I felt.

Edward reached me, his arms opening, and I stepped into them automatically. His familiar embrace should have felt like the comfort I always found in him. But instead, there was a strange gap between us, a subtle distance I couldn't put my finger on, like an unseen shadow tugging at the edges of what we once were.

"I was looking for you," he said, his arms enveloping me, his voice gentle. "I was worried. You were gone for so long."

The safeness of his embrace was still there, but I couldn't shake the sense that something was off—his eyes just a fraction out of sync, a subtle discomfort in the way he held me, with a hint of urgency, as though afraid to let go. His words, though soothing, felt distant, more like something he thought he should say than what I needed to hear. It was as if he were speaking from somewhere that wasn't quite here with me.

I nodded, forcing a faint smile.

"I just… needed some air. I can't face my mom and Rosie… not when I've caused this."

Edward's expression softened, though something remained unreadable in his eyes, a layer beneath the concern that I couldn't decipher. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but he closed them again, instead offering me the reassurance I needed to hear, even if it didn't ease the restlessness in me.

"You've never had any power over your father's reactions, Jasper."

His words hovered between us, uncomfortably unanchored, like they were meant to reassure me but fell short. The silence that followed only deepened the disconnect I'd felt creeping in.

I nodded again, though deep down, the guilt still churned. I knew Edward was trying to help, but even in his comfort, there was a sense that the bond we shared was stretching thin, that I was trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away. Whatever tension lingered in his eyes, it was there because of me—and, likely, because of what I wasn't ready to face.

We stood in silence, neither of us moving, until a nurse brushed past us, breaking the quiet spell around us. I glanced back toward the hospital, toward the building where my father lay, somewhere behind the cold, sterile walls. I didn't know what the next day, the next hour, would hold. Whether he'd come back to us. Or what his recovery, if he had one, would mean for our family. I didn't know what I'd do if he didn't make it. And now, I didn't know what this distance, this barely noticeable crack with Edward, meant either.

A part of me had always imagined that when I finally came out—when the truth was out in the open—it would feel like an awakening, like stepping into a new, liberated version of myself. But now, standing on the edge of this revelation, I saw it wasn't that simple. The world I had imagined, one where everything would fall into place, wasn't the one I was living in. This was turmoil. This was disarray. And somehow, I was tangled in the middle of it.

One thing was painfully clear: everything had changed, and yet I was standing here, suspended in uncertainty, holding onto threads that felt impossibly tangled. My father, Mark, Edward… none of it was as simple as it had once seemed. All I could do was brace myself for whatever was coming, hoping that, somehow, I'd find a way to keep from losing myself in the chaos.

A sharp breeze cut through the parking lot, and I shivered, but I didn't step away from Edward. I stayed, hoping the closeness between us could bridge whatever lay unsaid. Yet even as I held him, I knew that nothing about this night would be easy to forget—and that, one way or another, it had already marked the beginning of something I might not be able to take back. The cold wind seemed to press in from all sides, the chill biting through my jacket, but it was nothing compared to the chill that crept through my veins as I realized—this moment, this shift in everything, had already begun to unravel what I thought I knew about love, about truth, and about who I was.

.

.

The end (for now…)

"Think I'm tired of getting over it

And just starting something new again

I'm getting sick of the beginnings

(...)

I guess it's good to get it off my chest

Guess I can't believe I haven't yet

(...)

Tell me how to feel about you now

Tell me how to feel about you now

Oh, let me know

Do I suffocate or let go?"

.

Tell Me How - Paramore