Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

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Where the Lines Overlap

Final Season - We are Broken

I hate to see your heart break

The trip back to Providence had been mercilessly long. Edward sat beside me on the last plane, unusually quiet, his silence heavier than the hum of the engines. I tried closing my eyes, but the chaos in my head refused to settle. My thoughts spun relentlessly—a tangle of guilt, exhaustion, and an ache I couldn't name. The need to see Mark gnawed at me, sharp and insistent, twisting against the unease of Edward's veiled distance.

Every glance at him felt like trying to read a locked diary. His face gave nothing away, and the space between us felt wider than the cabin itself.

And then there was my father. I couldn't stop seeing him, pale and still, in that hospital bed. The machines—beeping, whirring—should've been a comfort, proof that he was still here. But the image haunted me. It felt like a fist clenching tighter around my chest with every passing minute.

Sleep had eluded me. Hours of staring out the window at the dark expanse below, trying to drown my thoughts in the engine's drone, had done nothing to quiet the restlessness. Edward and I hadn't exchanged more than a few words the entire trip.

The ride from the airport to the apartment felt like another eternity. The car was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the driver's radio. I pressed my palms against my knees to stop them from bouncing, the air too thick to breathe properly. Edward stared out the window, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. I felt like I was unraveling, piece by piece, under the weight of his indifference.

By the time we reached the apartment, I was ready to bolt from the car just to feel like I could breathe again. Edward barely paused once inside, dropping his bag near the door.

"I'm going to take a shower," he mumbled, already heading down the hall.

"Are you hungry?" I called after him, grasping for something—anything—to bridge the growing distance.

"No," he said flatly, not turning around. "I just want to sleep."

And then he was gone, the bedroom door shutting with a dull click.

I sank onto the couch, my head falling into my hands. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. The hurt burned in my chest, a bitter tension twisting harder with every replay of his words—or lack of them. He didn't even look at me.

Just a day and a half ago, we'd talked. We'd shared everything—words, touches, the kind of closeness that usually stitched us back together. I'd felt it then, too—things weren't right, not completely. But Edward had promised we'd try. He said we could figure it out together. And he had tried, at least for a little while.

Until that last visit to the hospital.

Something had shifted in him after those few hours. He'd been quiet while we saw my father, but I thought it was his way of giving me space. Now, it felt like something had frozen over completely, and I couldn't figure out how to reach him.

The pressure in my chest built to a breaking point. I couldn't sit still anymore. I grabbed my keys and left.

The crisp autumn air stung my skin as I stepped outside, but I welcomed the bite. I walked aimlessly, needing the movement—the protest of muscles—anything to calm the storm raging inside me.

Before I knew it, I was at Memorial Park. The sky burned orange and pink, the river below reflecting the fading light. I sank onto a bench, elbows on my knees, staring out at the water.

The last time I'd been here, Edward was with me. It was WaterFire, the night of the star-shaped lanterns. I remembered his hand in mine, the way we'd laughed and kissed under the glow of our star.

Now, I didn't understand him. I didn't understand us.

Maybe he was still caught up in the guilt he'd confessed—that crushing belief that what happened to my father was his fault. I thought we were starting to move past that. He'd opened up to me, finally letting me in. And when we'd made love, it felt like a promise, a step toward something steady again.

But now… now it felt like that fragile hope had vanished, slipping through my fingers like sand.

The sunset burned brighter for a moment, the horizon alive with orange and gold, before fading into dusk. Shadows stretched long across the park, the river catching the last glimmers of light. I watched as the colors deepened and blurred, my chest twisted with the press of memories and unanswered questions.

How had we gone from that night at WaterFire to this?

I sat there until the cold began to seep in, My body dragged with exhaustion. The toll of the long trip, the pressure of Edward's silence, and the knot of my own emotions bore down on me. I didn't want to go back to the apartment, back to the stifling silence he'd left behind.

But I had nowhere else to go.

I flagged down a cab, climbing into the backseat with a weariness that felt bone-deep. The driver glanced at me in the mirror, but I kept my eyes fixed on the blur of lights outside the window. Providence's streets were alive with the glow of streetlamps and the hum of people going about their lives. I felt oddly detached, as though I was watching the city from some distant, unreachable place.

By the time the cab pulled up to my building, the city had fully surrendered to the night, the streetlights casting halos on the pavement. I paid the driver and stepped out, the chill biting at my skin as I stood there for a moment, staring up at the windows of my apartment.

When I got in, the quiet was almost overwhelming. I dropped my keys on the counter and stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. My gaze drifted toward the hallway, to Edward's room.

I hesitated before moving. It felt like crossing a line, invading something I wasn't sure I was welcome in anymore. But I couldn't stop myself. Slowly, I reached for the doorknob, pushing it open just enough to peek inside.

The soft light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Edward's sleeping form. He was curled on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other resting against the mattress. His face looked pale, drawn—like he was carrying something too heavy for him alone.

I stepped inside, my movements cautious, careful not to wake him. The room felt thick with something unspoken, and I couldn't tell if it was his sadness or mine. I glanced at the clock on his nightstand and realized I'd been gone for nearly two hours.

As I got closer, I noticed something that made my chest tighten. His eyes were red and puffy, faint streaks on his cheeks catching the dim light. Edward had been crying.

He looked so tired, so utterly worn down, that it made my throat clench. Whatever was breaking inside him, he wasn't letting me in to see it, and the thought of that distance—of not knowing how to help him—felt unbearable.

I wanted so badly to lay down beside him, to crawl into that space where we'd shared so much love, even when things weren't perfect. The thought of being close to him, of feeling his presence against mine, was achingly tempting, stirring a longing that pulsed deep in my chest. But I knew I couldn't. Not when everything between us felt so fractured, so fragile.

I lingered there for a moment, watching him sleep, feeling that familiar pull toward him. But I couldn't bring myself to disturb the silence, not when it felt like it would break us both.

With a sigh, I quietly left and made my way down the hall. The door clicked softly behind me as I stood in the middle of my room, unsure of what to do next.

I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts, but I didn't know where else to go. Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the ensuite and dragged my exhausted limbs into the stall. The steam rose around me, wrapping the space in warmth. The water hit my skin, but it offered no solace—not the kind I needed.

I let my tears fall, merging with the water as I stood there, helpless—caught between the love I had for him and the fear that it was slipping away. I closed my eyes, hoping to wash away the remnants of the day, but the pain in my chest only deepened.

I didn't have the answers. All I had were these moments—these fragments of hope and hurt—that didn't seem to fit together anymore.

.

.

.

I was running—or at least, I thought I was. My legs felt heavy, like I was wading through thick water, and no matter how fast I tried to move, Edward kept slipping further away. I could see him in the distance, walking slowly, his back turned. I called his name, but my voice was lost in the space between us. I pushed harder, but with each step, the distance grew. Panic clawed at me as my heart pounded.

And then, just like that, he was gone. Disappeared into the thick, suffocating fog. I stopped dead in my tracks, breathless, trembling.

I turned, my heart pulling in every direction. That's when I felt it—a warm presence beside me, gentle but undeniable. I looked to my side, and there was Mark.

He smiled at me, that soft, sweet smile that always made my heart flutter, even now. His eyes, bright and piercing, locked onto mine. For a brief moment, I didn't feel lost anymore. The turmoil quieted, replaced by the stillness of his gaze.

Then, anguish surged within me. My heart swelled and broke at the same time. I needed to go after Edward, needed to fix what was slipping away. But there was something about Mark, something that anchored me in place. The pull was real.

Mark's lips moved, and I leaned closer, trying to hear, but the words didn't reach me.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling.

He repeated himself, lips forming the words again, but the sound was lost in the fog. I strained to read his lips, my heart hammering.

Finally, the words came into focus, sharp and clear.

"What are you waiting for?"

I blinked, the question striking me like a spark igniting something inside. I looked back at Mark's eyes, but they weren't his. They were Edward's—those same grayish-blue eyes that had once felt like home.

I froze.

"What?" I whispered again, a knot tightening in my throat as he continued to speak, but the words still felt out of reach.

Edward's lips moved slowly, painfully, his expression distant, like he was a world away.

"I don't want us anymore."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the cold truth sinking into my bones. I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to stop him from saying it. But it was too late.

I opened my eyes, unable to stop them.

I gasped for air, my chest tight, my hands shaking.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to me like cobwebs, the words echoing in my head, even though I was wide awake.

The room was quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of traffic outside. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—almost eight.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the ensuite. My body moved through the motions of my morning routine, but everything felt sluggish, as if each step required more effort than the last. The cold water against my face did little to shake the haze clouding my mind.

I lingered longer than usual, staring into the mirror. My reflection looked as tired as I felt, my eyes shadowed with sleeplessness and something deeper—something I didn't want to acknowledge. I gripped the edges of the sink, willing myself to push through it.

Just get out there. One step at a time.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and left the room. The apartment was still and quiet, the kind of quiet that made the walls feel closer. It didn't take long to realize I was alone.

In the kitchen, my eyes caught on a slip of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Edward's handwriting—neat, precise—stared back at me.

Needed to take a walk. Didn't want to wake you. Might be out for a while, so don't wait for me for lunch.

At the bottom, there were three words that tugged at my chest.

I love you.

It was there, written clear as day, but something about it felt… off. Like it had been added at the last minute, not because he felt it in that moment, but because it was a habit—something he was used to writing.

I stared at the note, my fingers brushing over the words. The warmth they should've brought me was absent, replaced instead by a cold emptiness. The hollowness inside me didn't lessen; if anything, it spread, filling every corner of the apartment.

I didn't want to feel like this—adrift, uncertain, like I was holding on to something that kept slipping further away.

The crushing sense of solitude, growing louder with each passing hour, stifled me. Then, as if my mind instinctively sought relief, I thought of Mark.

Mark had been such a steady presence in my life since we became friends. And although we hadn't known each other for long, he made me feel grounded when the world around me seemed to spin out of control. It was almost too weird that our bond was so solid, considering we'd been in each other's lives for less than a year—how he made me a priority when things got heavy. He never shied away; he leaned in. He listened, he stayed, and he understood me in ways I couldn't always articulate.

I could almost hear his voice, the way he'd say something small but thoughtful, how his smile could light up even the darkest corners of my mind. It seemed like, with him, I didn't have to hide the messier parts of myself. I could just be.

It wasn't about Edward. It wasn't about needing someone to replace the areas of my relationship that weren't working. It was about Mark, and how he made me feel safe. Loved.

The thought of him wasn't a fleeting escape from the pain—I knew that much. It was something deeper, something I couldn't ignore, even if it made everything else more complicated.

The thought of Mark only deepened the turbulence inside me, but in a different way. It wasn't the hollow, gnawing emptiness I'd been feeling with Edward lately—it was a yearning, a pull toward something solid and real. I missed him. I missed the way his voice softened the edges of my worst days, the way his presence could quiet the noise in my mind.

I glanced at my phone on the counter, the urge to call him almost overwhelming. My hand hovered over it, but the small screen felt too impersonal. The need grew sharper, and before I even had time to think it through, I was moving.

I walked to my room, my steps quick, driven by an urgency that couldn't be brushed aside. I threw open the closet, grabbed the first clothes I saw, and changed in a hurry. The apartment felt colder, emptier, the longer I stayed. I needed out.

.

.

.

I knew I was taking a risk by coming here. The thought of seeing Mark with Kyle wasn't something I wanted to face—not now, not ever—but some part of me couldn't stop myself.

My feet carried me forward, almost on their own, toward the streetball court near Mark's building. It was Sunday morning; I knew he'd be there.

Even before I reached the court, I heard his voice—shouted, excited. My heart jolted at the sound, a mixture of longing and apprehension twisting inside me. I slowed my steps, hesitating as I turned the corner. What if Kyle was there? I wasn't sure I could handle that.

But then I saw them—Mark and our friends, Brandon, Troy, Freddie, and Aaron, along with a group of guys I didn't recognize on the opposing team. No Kyle.

I exhaled, the tension easing from my shoulders.

Mark was in his element, his movements sharp and seamless as he navigated the court. I stopped a few paces away, letting myself take it in—the way he dribbled with precision, how the guys shouted encouragement, and the way his focus never wavered. He was more than a good basketball player; he was incredible, every motion a blend of skill and instinct.

My gaze lingered, drawn to the way he carried himself. Confident, yet effortless. Handsome didn't even begin to describe him. The copperish sheen of his hair caught the light, and there was something in the way he moved—like he was always aware of the space around him, fluid and assured. His smile, easy and wide, seemed to stretch taller than the rest of him, as if his presence could fill any room. The sunlight caught the edges of it when he laughed with our friends—it was magnetic.

Mark took the ball at the three-point line, and my heart raced as I watched him. His stance, the way he gauged the distance, and then the shot—it was flawless. The ball arced beautifully through the air and sank through the net with a satisfying swish.

The guys erupted into cheers, and Mark's grin stretched wide as he turned to high-five Brandon. That big, unrestrained smile of his—it had me smiling too, despite myself.

In that moment, it hit me like a freight train. I realized something I'd known for a while but never truly let sink in… I wasn't just comforted by him or grateful for the way he understood me. I wasn't just in love with him. The way I felt drawn to him, the way I wanted him—the depth of it all hit me at once, leaving me breathless.

What the fuck is this? What's this feeling?

I approached the spiral wire mesh enclosing the court, my steps hesitant as I gripped the fence. My gaze wouldn't leave the game, following the guys' every move. It felt like an anchor—something to focus on while my heart pounded harder than it should have, all because of him.

Brandon was the first to notice me. He flashed a grin and waved.

"Hale!" he called out, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Jogging over, he reached for my arm, but my attention was already elsewhere.

Mark's eyes met mine almost immediately, a small smile tugging at his lips as our gazes locked. The rest of the guys—Troy, Freddie, Aaron—turned to see me too, acknowledging me with nods and casual smiles. I returned their greetings, but my focus stayed on Mark.

He stood exactly where he had been, his posture easy but somehow purposeful, as though he was waiting for something. His sharp, icy-blue eyes didn't waver, fixed on mine.

The others were calling me into the game now, Brandon tugging at my arm more insistently.

"C'mon, man, get in here!"

But I couldn't move, the intensity of Mark's gaze rooting me to the spot. It was as if the world around us had paused, leaving only him and me.

Then he jerked his head, just slightly, an unspoken invitation that sent me stepping into the court. The guys closed in, voices overlapping as they jostled for positions. My feet dragged slightly, my focus still half on Mark. The soles of my shoes scuffed against the rough asphalt as I moved forward, the faint squeak cutting through the buzz of chatter around me.

I stopped directly in front of him. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of us. Four days apart, and now here we were again.

It was strange how much had passed in so little time, how the space between us seemed to carry a weight it hadn't before. I could tell Mark felt it too; the warmth in his expression was edged with uncertainty, like he was searching for what came next.

Our eyes held, lingering just a beat too long before I finally broke away, joining the others. But even as the game resumed, I couldn't shake the feeling of Mark's gaze, quietly following me.

After the game wound down, the last few shots echoing across the court, the guys filtered off, one by one, heading home. Brandon waved as he jogged off, Troy and Freddie following suit, each of them heading in different directions. The usual chatter and laughter faded into the distance, leaving just Mark and me standing by the court.

We watched in silence as our friends disappeared around the corner, the last of the noise dying down. And then, it was just us.

Mark turned to face me, and for a moment, we both just stared at each other. My heart picked up its pace, like it lately did when he looked at me that way. I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, but nothing came out.

Mark sighed softly, the sound light, almost like a release, yet heavy with something unspoken. It was enough to make me move. Without thinking too much about it, I stepped forward, closing the space between us. Before I could second-guess myself, I stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him into a hug.

Mark wrapped his arms around me instantly. For a beat, neither of us spoke, and we both let out a deep sigh at the same time. It felt like the world had paused for a second—like everything else had faded away. The initial awkwardness of the moment dissolved, replaced by a surprising tenderness, like we had both been waiting for this but didn't know it until now. It was something I hadn't expected, and a mixture of surprise and satisfaction spread through me. We'd never been this close.

I felt a little silly, but the joy in my chest made me forget that. Just being here, with him, felt… right.

Mark's arms tightened around me for a brief moment, a soft squeeze that sent my heart racing even faster. It amazed me how something so small could leave me breathless. I sighed, a little dizzy, and let my forehead rest against his shoulder as I lowered myself back onto the soles of my feet. I didn't want to let go—not yet—and for a second, it felt like he didn't either.

But then Mark exhaled, his breath brushing against the side of my head, and he began to loosen his hold. He stepped back, creating space between us, and the emptiness that replaced his warmth settled over me instantly. I kept my gaze on the ground, unsure if I could meet his eyes just yet. The embrace had ended, but its absence left a slight ache—a hollow spot I hadn't been prepared for.

Finally, I glanced up, hesitant but unable to stay in that silence for long. When I did, Mark was looking at me. His eyes—those piercing irises—caught the light in a way that made me pause. The sadness I'd seen before, the heaviness I'd kinda grown used to in recent months, wasn't there this time. Instead, there was something else. Something lighter.

Joy.

It struck me how rare it had been lately to see that glint in his eyes, and I couldn't help but stare, caught off guard by how much it changed his expression. It was the kind of joy that made everything else seem insignificant for a moment, and I found myself surprised by how much it meant to see him like this.

The words formed before I even realized I was speaking.

"I've missed you."

Mark's smile widened, his face softening even more, and to my surprise, he chuckled lightly.

"I missed you too," he said, his voice quiet, almost like it wasn't meant to be heard. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Like crazy."

The phrase was so soft I almost didn't catch it, but when I did, something fluttered in my chest. We stood there for a moment, both unsure of what to say next. It was ridiculous, really, how much it felt like I was a teenager again—awkward, nervous, and acutely aware of every single thing about him.

Mark finally broke the silence.

"Hungry?"

I blinked. My stomach twisted in protest, reminding me I hadn't eaten since waking up.

Mark reached out and found my hand, his fingers curled around mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His touch sparked something inside me—like a faint glow spreading through the spaces that had felt dim all morning, leaving me unable to do anything but follow his lead.

"Come on," he said, his voice light but full of intention. "I'll cook for you."

With that, he tugged me gently toward his car, and despite the confusion swirling inside me, I let him. My hand in his, the pressure of his palm against mine, It grounded me, but also stirred something deeper I couldn't ignore.

.

.

.

The faint aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air was warm and inviting. I leaned against the sink cabinet, my arms loosely crossed, as I watched him move easily in his kitchen. He had taken a shower in record time and was already preparing what looked like pasta for us. His hair was still a little wet, the strands sticking stubbornly to his forehead as they dried.

A fluttering sensation stirred deep in my chest and stomach, making it hard to breathe as I took in his every movement. His scent—a mix of fresh soap and something distinctly Mark—seemed to wrap around me, grounding and overwhelming at the same time. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to reach out and push those errant strands of hair from his face, but I stayed rooted where I was.

Mark was talking about something that had happened at the streetball court earlier. I caught bits and pieces of his words—something about Brandon and a particularly impressive play—but it barely registered. My focus was entirely on him. The way his hands moved as he stirred whatever was in the pan. The way his shoulders shifted, relaxed but strong, had a calming effect on me, but also made my pulse race.

I didn't know I could miss someone this much even when they were standing just a few feet away.

Without warning, Mark turned, stepping closer, and my body tensed instinctively. His voice cut through my thoughts, steady but laced with a touch of amusement.

"Can you move a bit? I need the paprika that's behind you."

It took me a second to process the request, but I nodded, shifting to the side. As I moved, our arms brushed lightly, and the touch sent a current through me, sharp and electric. A soft shiver raced down my spine, and I saw Mark pause too. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, everything else—the simmering pan, the conversation, the world—melted into the background.

The pull between us was unmistakable, like a magnet drawing me in. My breath hitched as the space between us seemed to dissolve. Mark's gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and I felt the yearning to kiss him surge with full force, raw and undeniable.

He leaned in just as I straightened, and our faces aligned effortlessly. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, the closeness of him so dizzying that I wasn't sure if I was still breathing, or if the air had just stopped moving. The anticipation was intoxicating, and for a heartbeat, I let myself drown in it.

Mark's eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a heavy sigh, breaking the connection as he stepped back. The space between us stretched like an abyss, and the sudden loss of his closeness hit me like a splash of cold water. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I just stood there, unable to process the shift.

We exchanged a long look, the silence stretching taut between us. Mark was the one to finally break it, his voice low and raw.

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you," he admitted, his words tumbling out as if he couldn't hold them back any longer. "But I can't do this... not when..."

His voice trailed off, the rest of his sentence unfinished, but I didn't need him to say it. I knew.

I lowered my gaze, staring at the floor as shame surged through me. It hit me, sharp and unrelenting—I hadn't thought about Edward once since I first saw Mark on the streetball court. The realization tore through me, and guilt crashed in like a wave.

I noticed Mark move. He reached for the stove, turning off the burner, his motions measured. Then, I felt the gentleness of his touch as his hand curled around mine, centering me in the moment.

"Come," he said softly, his voice steady but kind. "Let's talk."

I glanced up at him, unsure of what to say, but he didn't wait for a response. With a light tug, he guided me toward the balcony.

We settled onto the chaise lounges, angled toward each other, the soft hum of the city filling the silence. Mark looked tense, his fingers gripping the edge of his chair like he was bracing for something. I caught the subtle furrow in his brow, the way his eyes flickered toward me and then away, like he was searching for the right words to start.

But the silence felt too heavy, too unbearable. Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out evenly, in a way that surprised me.

"I'm in love with you."

Mark's head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly. My admission sat between us. I hesitated for only a moment before pushing through, unable to stop now.

"You already know that… but I needed you to hear me say it."

He stayed silent, his expression shifting to something softer, though the tension in his body remained. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous energy rising in my chest.

"I wanna be with you." The words hung there, exposed.

They felt honest—true—but as soon as I said them, I heard it: the faint tremor in my voice, a crack in the sincerity. A piece missing. Something not entirely there.

Mark's expression changed, his eyes narrowing just enough to make it clear he'd caught it too—like he could see past my words into the parts of me I wasn't ready to face.

"But…" he prompted gently, his voice careful, but the single word sliced through me like a knife.

My breath caught, my chest tightening as though the word alone had struck a chord deep within me. And then, as if it wasn't even a choice, the truth slipped free, soft and fragile.

"I love Edward."

The words felt small, barely audible over the faint sounds of the city below, yet the impact was anything but quiet. They landed like stones, unyielding.

Mark's words cut through the quiet like a lifeline.

"You know your decision." He wasn't pressing, just waiting—his expression open, calm.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts racing. Deep down, I'd known my choice long before this moment. Even with everything so tangled and uncertain between Edward and me, my love for him had never wavered. It wasn't just our history—though that was part of it. He was my childhood best friend, my first boyfriend, the first person I'd ever truly fallen in love with. That love was still there, unchanged, undiminished.

The tears came before I realized it, slipping down my cheeks in quiet streams. I didn't fight them—couldn't fight them. My voice was barely a whisper, broken and raw as I let the truth spill out.

"It's always been Edward."

Mark didn't flinch, didn't seem the least surprised. He moved without hesitation, settling beside me on the same chaise lounge. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug that felt solid and real, an anchor in the storm. I turned into him, burying my face in his chest, unable to stop the tears as my own emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

"I get it," he said, his voice thick with something I couldn't quite name. It was soft, but cracked at the edges. "I knew it would happen this way." He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his expression more than I'd expected—sad, but calm, as if accepting something heavy. "It's okay. I understand the bond you have with Edward, Jasper."

I straightened up, wiping at my face, feeling the rawness of my emotions.

"It doesn't change how I feel about you," I said, my voice uneven but firm.

Mark's smile was small, tinged with sadness, but it reached his eyes, making my chest tighten.

"I know," he murmured, as if it was something he'd already accepted. "I feel the same." His voice caught, and he exhaled, forcing the breath out. "But we can't... we can't do anything more than this."

He reached up, his fingers brushing across my face to wipe away the tears I couldn't seem to hold back. His touch was gentle, yet it felt like it was holding me together, keeping me from falling apart.

"I'm okay with just being friends, Jasper," he said, his voice steady, though I could hear the faint strain beneath the surface. "But I need you to know... I can't lose you. I don't think I could ever handle that."

His words struck something deep inside me, and I looked up at him, my heart tightening painfully.

"You won't," I said, my voice trembling with urgency. "You'll never lose me."

When we embraced again, I let myself lean into him fully, every barrier between us dissolving. His arms tightened around me, and for a moment, it felt like the outside world had disappeared. All that remained was the two of us, suspended in this fragile, bittersweet truth.

Mark didn't let go, his voice dropping to a soft, deliberate tone.

"I'm not going back to Kyle," he said, calm but with quiet emotion woven through each word.

I felt myself tense, his honesty settling heavily between us. There was no resentment in his tone, only raw sincerity that made my chest ache.

He paused, his chin brushing my shoulder before continuing, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

"I realized… I was just trying to find solace. That night with Kyle—it wasn't about him. It was an outlet, a way to escape my feelings for you." He hesitated, and I felt the slight shift of his arms, like he was debating whether to say more. But then he did. "I was trying to deny them, Jasper. Trying to erase them. And when that didn't work, I held onto something I thought might be enough because, deep down, I knew…" His voice broke slightly. "I knew I wouldn't get you."

His confession pulled at something deep inside me, unraveling emotions I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. He moved slightly, easing me back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes searched mine, filled with a calm acceptance that was heartbreakingly tender.

"I never expected you to feel the same," he said, his voice steadying. "But knowing that you do, knowing our bond is special—that's enough for me."

His hands slid to my shoulders, and with the gentlest push, he created just enough space to hold my gaze.

"I am in love with you," he said, the words soft but deliberate, as though he'd been waiting to say them for a long time. A faint smile curved his lips, and then he added, "I just needed you to hear me say it."

I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. He was quoting me. The tension between us eased just enough for a quiet chuckle to pass between us, though my chest still felt tight.

Mark's expression sobered as his eyes locked with mine.

"I accept your decision," he said quietly. "I won't get in the way of what you have with Edward." His voice was soft, but the meaning behind his words hit me squarely. Then he smiled—a little sadder this time, but still genuine. "I just… I need to keep this bond with you. That's all I want."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

"What do you think we should do?" I asked, unsure if my voice would hold steady.

Mark didn't hesitate.

"We remain friends," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "We do our best not to let things change between us."

I nodded, feeling the truth of it settle in like a quiet resolution.

"I can't lose you either," I admitted, the words spilling out before I could second-guess them.

We held each other's gaze, and for a moment, I felt completely unguarded under his eyes. My own flickered to his lips before I could stop myself, and a pang of longing surged through me—a feeling I didn't know how to suppress.

Mark must have noticed it—or maybe he felt it too. Instead of calling attention to it, he wrapped his arms around me again, pulling me back into his embrace.

"You're going to have to cooperate, you know." His cheek brushed mine as he whispered into my ear, his tone light and teasing despite the undercurrent of everything unsaid.

A shaky laugh escaped me, genuine in its own way, and he laughed too. The sound was warm, easing some of the pain in my chest, and for that moment, it felt like we'd found a fragile equilibrium between us.

"You just have to promise me something," I said earnestly, my voice low.

"Anything," he replied promptly.

"You won't call me kid, or Hale, or even Jasper anymore." I pushed back slightly to meet his gaze, noticing the way his brows furrowed in confusion. "I hate how all of those names feel impersonal when they come from you." I shrugged, the words coming out quieter than I intended.

His expression softened, his lips twitching toward a smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

"And how should I call you?"

"My closest friends call me Jay," I said, letting the hint linger in my tone.

He nodded, his crooked smile growing as he pulled me back into his arms.

"Okay, Jay… but then you'll have to stop calling me Wallon. Or Mark."

"And how should I call you?" I asked, quoting him with a soft chuckle.

Mark leaned his chin against my shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh.

"My closest friends call me M. And my granny calls me Marky."

I couldn't help the smile that curved my lips, though he couldn't see it. I already knew what I wanted to call him—something that had been on my mind for a while. It felt right because of everything he brought into my life: light, warmth, and the undeniable way he lifted my spirits.

"I'll call you Sunny," I murmured, the word slipping out softly as I ducked my head, pressing my lips to his shoulder in a gentle, fleeting touch.

I felt, more than heard, the surprised gasp he let out—a soft sound that vibrated against me. And somehow, in that moment, I knew he was as satisfied with the name as I was.

It was so little… but it meant everything.

We stayed like that, holding onto each other as the city hummed softly in the background. I let myself relax into him, absorbing the quiet strength of his arms and the unspoken significance of our words lingering between us.

For a fleeting moment, I let myself hope—secretly, selfishly—that I might get to be this close to him again someday.

And with that fragile hope, I allowed myself to rest, knowing this was where we'd have to leave it.