Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

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Where the Lines Overlap

All We Know

~~ Mark ~~

( I'll be standing by and) Heal Your Broken Heart

The drive to the airport hums with the low growl of the engine and the muted sounds of the city slipping by. Jasper's silence fill the car, a heavy, palpable weight laced with unspoken words.

I glance at him. His head tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed, his jaw tight, the tension radiating from him in waves. There's a burden on his shoulders, one he's holding close. I don't ask if he's okay—I know he isn't. Asking would only press on wounds he isn't ready to share, would just make it worse.

Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, a comfort rather than an awkwardness. I don't need to hear his words to feel his pain; it etched itself into every line of his face, every clenched muscle, every measured breath. Whatever he's going through right now, it's not just about his dad waking up. It runs deeper, a shadow too wide to name. But I don't push. I won't.

My fingers tighten around the wheel, my gaze flicking back to him.

Shouldn't Edward be here instead? Shouldn't it be him, driving Jasper to the airport right now?

The questions churn in my head but I don't voice my thoughts. I don't ask where his boyfriend is or why Jasper has turned to me instead. It's not my place—and hell, if I'm honest with myself, maybe I don't want to hear the answers. Jasper doesn't need that from me. Not now.

I steal a glance at him again. His eyes are still closed, the lines of his face drawn tight. The thought comes, unbidden: maybe he's thinking about Edward right now. Maybe he's wondering why he isn't here. I hate the idea of that. The jealousy twists inside me, bitter. I push it down, though, focusing on the road. It isn't mine to feel.

We hit a red light and I sigh softly, not wanting to disturb him.

"You ready for this?" I break the silence cautiously. It's just a whisper of concern—sincere but understated—a quiet way to let him know I'm here. It's all I'm allowed to offer. And maybe it's enough.

Jasper's eyes flutter open, and he glances over at me. There's something fragile in his expression, something that makes my chest tighten.

"Yeah," he says, but it doesn't sound convincing. "I'll be okay."

I nod, holding his gaze for a moment before the light changes, and we're moving again.

"I know you will," I say, the words honest but not overbearing—just a promise if he needs it.

We ride on in silence after that, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. I catch his reflection in the side mirror—his face taut, his shoulders rigid—he's not okay, but he's here, on his way to his dad, and that's something. It's enough, for now.

When we pull up to the curb at the airport, I park and kill the engine. Jasper's phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking the quiet. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen before slipping it back, his jaw tensing as worry flickers across his face. He tries to hide it, but it's there—a crack in the armor he wears too tightly.

"You haven't bought a ticket or checked the schedule, have you?" I ask, keeping my voice even, careful not to add to the tension.

Jasper shakes his head, still silent. His lips part like he's about to say something, but all that comes is a sigh. He looks away, his gaze distant, thoughts pulling him somewhere I can't follow. I don't push him. Instead, I wait, giving him the space he seems to need.

For a moment, I almost reach out, my hand twitching with the urge to touch his arm—something small to ground him. But I don't. I let him sit with whatever's weighing on him, this last bit of silence his own.

"I… thanks, Sunny," he finally says, his voice low, the nickname landing softly but hitting hard. My heart stutters—it's the second time he used it today. "For everything. I'm sorry to bother you this much… I just didn't—"

"Jay, I've told you—you never bother me," I interrupt, firm but gentle. "You know I'm here for you, whatever you need. Just… let me know what I can do, yeah?" I give him a small smile, one I hope feels solid enough for both of us.

He nods slowly, and there it is—a faint curve to his lips, just enough to hint at his dimples. Adorable as ever, and just as unfair.

Jasper opens the door, hesitating like there's something left unsaid, before stepping out into the night. I leave the window down, watching him head toward the terminal. Part of me wants to follow, to be right there with him, to make sure he doesn't have to deal with all this alone. But I stay put. He knows I'm here if he needs me… and maybe he'll let me know if he does.

Just then, he stops a few feet from the entrance. I frown, puzzled by the pause, then watch as he turns and walks back toward the car. My heart flutters when he leans on the passenger-side window.

"Can you… can you come with me?" His voice is almost a whisper, small and tight with unspoken fear. "Just… stay with me a little longer, just until I deal with the tickets and…" His voice trails off, leaving the sentence incomplete but full of the anxiety he's trying to manage.

I don't hesitate. A warmth blooms in my chest, spreading fast as I nod and step out of the car. Locking it behind me, I cross to his side, unable to hide how much it means that he asked.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips when I take his bag from his hand. I want to reach for his hand too, but I don't. Instead, I motion toward the terminal, silently telling him I'm ready when he is.

We walk in step, close enough that I can feel him beside me, but not as close as I want to be. My steps itch to drift closer, my arm longing to brush against his, but I hold myself back. Inside the airport, the blast of the air conditioning hits us like a wave, sharp and unforgiving.

Jasper shivers—a small, barely-there reaction, but I catch it. The way his shoulders tense just a fraction makes me notice—again—how fragile he seems tonight. My first instinct is to pull him closer, to wrap my arm around his shoulders and shield him from the cold, but I can't. Not like that.

Instead, I stop. He looks back at me, his brow furrowing with that soft, confused look that always makes me weak. Without a word, I shrug off my jacket and hold it out.

He hesitates for a second, then smiles shyly as he slips his arms into the sleeves. Watching him do it sends a tingle racing through me. God, he looks good in it. It's ridiculous how right it feels—seeing him in my jacket, something of mine wrapped around him. It sets my chest alight.

Even though he's pretty tall, I love that I still have to look down at him, that he has to tilt his chin up to meet my gaze. It's… endearing. Like this little reminder that I could shield him if he lets me, that I could be the one to keep him safe from everything trying to pull him down.

But I know I can't. Not really. Not in the way I want to. So for now, I settle for this—a jacket, a quiet gesture—a small way to care for him without saying the things I shouldn't. It isn't much, but it has to be enough.

Arranging the tickets is easier than I expected. There's a flight leaving in an hour and a half, with a stop in Denver before heading to Seattle. The layover will stretch the journey into nearly eight hours, a thought that digs in, unwelcome and relentless. I don't like the idea of him being alone for that long, surrounded by strangers while carrying so much on his mind.

If he asked me to go with him, I'd do it in a heartbeat—no questions, no hesitation. But he doesn't.

Once the ticket is bought, I turn to him.

"You should eat something before you go."

"I'm not hungry," he says quietly, already brushing me off.

I shake my head.

"You're eating," I insist. "We've got time. About an hour."

He doesn't argue, just looks at me with tired acceptance, as if he's too drained to protest.

At the airport restaurant, my attention keeps drifting back to him. Every glance feels like it gives something away, a little too much longing slipping through. He's sitting across from me, looking a little worn down, a little out of place, and somehow... perfect. The sight of him wearing my jacket does something to me. It's too big on him in all the right ways, and I can't help but think about how good it feels to see him wrapped in something of mine.

His eyes catch me next—those deep green pools that make me think of some tropical paradise, clear and endless. There's a gravity to them, an unguarded honesty that makes my chest ache. I wonder if he knows how much they affect me, how much I want to lose myself in them, to dive in and let the world around us blur away.

My gaze dips lower for a moment, landing on his lips.

They look soft, inviting—just the kind of lips that would feel perfect pressed against mine. My mind betrays me, chasing a moment that can't happen. I wonder about their texture, their taste. Would they be warm? cool? Somewhere in between?

I barely catch myself before I can spiral further. Jasper leans in slightly, his voice cutting through my thoughts, snapping me back to the moment.

"You're the one who said I should cooperate," he says, a teasing edge in his tone. "Don't you think you should do the same?"

The words catch me off guard. I blink, scrambling for balance, before a crooked smile finds its way to my face.

"Sorry," I mutter, trying to play it off, though I can still feel the burn of his gaze.

For a split second, Jasper's eyes flicker to my lips. The motion is so brief I might've missed it if I weren't watching so closely. But I am. Always. My heart stutters, and I feel this quiet, burning satisfaction. Is it wishful thinking? It isn't. I know he's as attracted to me—I can see it, feel it.

But I can't let myself go there. We've agreed to stay friends. I promised.

Still, a small part of me—the part that doesn't want to let him go—hates it.

Jasper leans back against the chair, his posture softening as his hand runs through his shoulder-length hair. The strands fall around his face, framing him in a way that feels effortlessly perfect. I don't know how he does it—how he can look so beautiful without even trying.

I clench my hands into fists under the table, holding back the sigh that's threatening to escape. Watching him, I feel it again—that ache deep in my chest, sharp and constant. I'm so fucking in love with him that it physically hurts. And the worst part? Knowing that he feels the same way about me only makes it harder.

Because of my feelings for him, I respect his feelings… and that's exactly why I have to respect his connection to Edward. Respect his decision to stay with him.

Edward.

I try not to think about him, but the thought slips in anyway. He's a good guy. I know he loves Jasper. But how could he let Jasper travel alone for something this important? If it were me, I wouldn't have let him go through this by himself. I'd be there, right by his side, making sure he had the support he needed.

"Is someone picking you up when you get to Seattle?" I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels anything but.

"Carlisle messaged me earlier," Jasper replies, his tone light but firm. "He told me to let him know my arrival time, and he'll pick me up."

"Carlisle?"

"Edward's dad," Jasper explains. I nod, absorbing that. He pauses, glancing down briefly. "He's like a father to me too."

It's not surprising, not really. But it lands harder than I expected—a sudden pang of jealousy I didn't see coming. How could I ever measure up to that? Edward isn't just his boyfriend; he's entwined in Jasper's life in ways I could never be. His family isn't just Edward's family—they're Jasper's too.

Jasper's voice pulls me back.

"Are you… worried about me traveling alone?" he asks, his words tentative, almost shy.

I don't hold back.

"Yeah, I am," I admit. "I know you're a grown man and you can handle yourself, but…" I trail off, shrugging as my gaze meets his.

He smiles softly, something vulnerable in his expression.

"I like that you worry about me," he says, and the quiet sincerity of it hits me hard.

I can't help but smile in return, but then I sigh, lowering my head. I can't let myself get carried away.

"Sorry," Jasper murmurs.

My head snaps up, and I shake it immediately.

"No, don't be sorry. If anything, I should be apologizing." I hesitate, my voice dropping. "I just… I wish things were different. I wish I could take care of you the way I want to. The way I think you deserve."

This time, it's Jasper who lowers his head, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face.

"Sorry for being too intense," I add quickly, trying to dial myself back. "I'll tone it down."

Without looking up, Jasper whispers, "Don't."

And just like that, I'm undone.

I'm stunned silent, trying to make sense of his words while my heart thunders in my chest.

Did he mean don't… tone it down?

I'm not sure—not fully—but when he finally raises his eyes to meet mine, there's something in his gaze, a glint of vulnerability mixed with quiet determination. It feels like an answer.

"I don't want you to tone it down," Jasper says softly, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that lingers in his expression. "Or distance yourself from me."

I blink, barely able to breathe as he keeps going.

"I…" He pauses, his voice faltering for the briefest moment before he presses on. "I feel bad for wanting to keep you like this," he admits, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting mine again. "I know we're friends. I know we promised to stay friends. But I can't help how I feel. And… even though I don't know how to deal with all these feelings I have for you, I know I don't want our bond or dynamics to change."

His words land hard—like a blow and a balm in the same breath.

He hesitates, his brows knitting together.

"I'll understand if you disagree, I know it's unfair. If you think we should keep the boundaries we had before, I'll… I'll deal with it. I'll try to accept your decision. But that's not what I want." He exhales, shrugging slightly. "I'm sorry. I just needed to be honest."

I let out a heavy breath, his words settling over me like a storm I can't escape. It's everything I want to hear—and yet, it's everything I know we can't have. Not the way I wish we could.

"Okay," I say, my voice softer than I intend.

Jasper's eyes widen, his surprise palpable.

"Okay?" he echoes, like he's not sure he heard me right.

"Okay," I repeat, this time firmer, even though my chest feels like it's caving in.

I take a deep breath, pushing past the ache to say what he needs to hear.

"All I want is to see you happy. So, if this is what you need from me… if this will make things easier for you—make you happy—then I'll do it. Gladly."

His lips part slightly, like he wants to respond but can't find the words. For a moment, we sit there, suspended in this fragile tension between wanting and restraint.

And even though it feels like I'm breaking apart inside, I mean every word. Because he's Jasper. And I'd do anything for him.

What is this feeling? It's all-consuming, a hurricane of longing and devotion that leaves me both exhilarated and powerless. It's like I could do anything—be anything—for him, even if it tears me apart, just to make sure he's happy and safe. Even if it means giving up pieces of myself, I'd do it without question.

I try to shake the weight of it off and level the tension between us.

"So, have you decided what you want to eat?" I ask, forcing a smile that feels steady, even though my chest feels anything but.

Jasper's honest smile appears, dimples and all, and it's devastatingly beautiful. My heart flutters at the sight. Those damn dimples—they'll be the end of me.

"Yeah," he says simply, his voice steady.

I call the waiter over, letting the moment breathe, and somehow, we slip into something lighter, easier. We eat, talk about random things—nothing heavy, just simple amenities. He tells me a bit about his family, his voice quieter and more reflective, and I hang on to every word like it's something precious.

The time slips by too fast, and before I know it, we're standing at the boarding gate. This moment—the edge of goodbye—feels too soon, too abrupt, and I hate it.

I want to hug him. God, I need to. But I hesitate, unsure of where the line is anymore, unsure if stepping over it will help or hurt him.

Jasper doesn't wait, though. In that unassuming, perfect way of his, he closes the space between us. He thanks me for the day, for being there, for caring, and then, with that endearing way of his, he stands on his toes and kisses my cheek.

The feel of his lips against my skin short-circuits every rational thought in my head. My arms move before I think, pulling him into an embrace. My voice is low, almost a whisper as I lean into his ear.

"Just know I'd do anything—I mean anything—for you."

He lands back on his feet slowly, our eyes locking in a moment that feels suspended in time. I'm sure he can feel my heart racing against his chest as he lingers there, pink warmth blooming on his cheeks. Before I can think better of it, I lift a hand to cup his face. My thumb moves on its own, brushing over the pink glow.

Jasper closes his eyes at the touch, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. It's almost too much—the way he leans into it, the unspoken connection between us, how his fingers ghost against my wrist, grounding me in a moment I know I'll replay forever.

He opens his eyes again, looking at me like he doesn't want to leave.

"I have to go." He says softly.

I drop my hand with effort, nodding as I force a smile and shove everything I'm feeling into a corner of my heart.

"Call me when you're in Denver. And when you get to Seattle."

He smiles, and there's a slight wickedness in it that warms me despite everything.

"I'll call you. Like I always do."

There's no mistaking what he means, and despite the ache churning in my chest, I can't help but smile back.

I watch him walk away, my chest tight as he nears the boarding area. Each step feels like a thread snapping, unraveling something fragile between us. I don't want to blink, afraid I'll miss a last glance.

And then, just as he's about to disappear, he looks back at me.

It's brief but enough. Enough to keep me rooted here, even as he goes.

I'm back in my car, sitting behind the wheel, but I don't start the engine right away. The cabin feels claustrophobic in its silence, pressing against me like a physical weight. My hands grip the steering wheel, fingers flexing against the leather as I stare blankly ahead.

It hits me how the whole day has been spent with Jasper—unplanned, yes, but somehow perfect in its spontaneity. A small burst of happiness warms me at the thought; any time I can spend with him feels like a gift. But the brightness fades almost immediately, eclipsed by the reality of what brought us together today. I wish it had been under different circumstances—not his sadness over Edward's distance, and not this rushed, frantic scramble to get him on a plane to face something that's clearly tearing him apart.

That sense of helplessness pulls me back to earlier, to the moment Kyle stopped me outside the gym.

I'd just finished practice and was standing in the lot, phone in hand, texting Granny to let her know I'd be bringing Jasper to meet her. The sound of rushed footsteps behind me made me turn instinctively.

When I saw Kyle, a pang of something soft and bittersweet hit me before I could steel myself. I've always had a soft spot for him, even after everything.

"M," he said, his voice hesitant. "Are you busy this afternoon? I wanted to talk."

"I can't," I told him, my tone carefully balanced—gentle, but firm. "I already have plans."

"With Hale?" he asked, and the way his voice tightened around Jasper's name made my stomach knot.

I sighed, shaking my head.

"Let's not go there again, Ky. Please. We've talked about this already."

He nodded slowly, his expression softening, but his words cut anyway.

"He has a boyfriend."

"Kyle," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Jasper and I are just friends. This isn't about him—it's about us. And you already know how I feel."

Kyle's eyes dropped to the ground, his voice quieter.

"I just want to talk. Please."

I knew what he meant—knew he was being sincere for the first time since we ended things—but I couldn't let myself get drawn back in.

"We've already talked, Ky. I'm not changing my mind."

He nodded again, more to himself than to me, and without another word, he turned and walked away. The slump in his shoulders stuck with me as I stood there, guilt creeping in despite myself. I knew he was finally trying. But even if he was sincere this time, it didn't matter. It was too late.

A buzz from my phone pulls me back to the present. I look down and see Jasper's name on the screen, and a smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.

The message is short: In the plane. Safe. WYWH.

I frown for a second, trying to decode the initials, and then it clicks. My heart pounds, the words as unexpected as they are bittersweet.

Wish you were here.

I type my reply without hesitation, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts: Same. WICLY.

I hit send and stare at the screen, hoping he gets it.

With a deep breath, I turn the key and start the car, the rumble of the engine grounding me. I pull onto the road, heading toward my apartment, when the car system lights up with an incoming call. Granny.

I hit the button to answer.

"Hey, Granny."

"Hey, Marky," she says, her voice warm and familiar. "Did everything go well with Jasper?"

"Yeah," I say, pausing as I swallow the knot in my throat. "Granny, I don't know if I can take this…" My voice cracks under the weight of being in love with someone who feels the same—but not enough to choose me.

Her voice softens even more, carrying that unwavering certainty only she can manage.

"You can, Marky. You can do this."

I exhale heavily, gripping the wheel tighter.

"I think it's him, Granny… Actually, I'm painfully almost sure."

There's a pause, her silence weighing as much as her words ever do.

"Then fight for him."

"I can't," I say, my voice breaking. The confession feels like an open wound. "He already has the one for him. And it's not me."

Another pause, this one longer.

"Was he there with him?" Her question stings. I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, she adds, the words cutting through me like she knows too much, "Who was the person by his side till he boarded?"

"I was," I admit, swallowing hard. "But I was just taking care of him."

Her voice softens again, filled with quiet certainty.

"At some point, you'll see what I see. And he'll see it too. If he doesn't already, that is."

Her words settle deep in my chest, an uneasy mixture of hope and fear. I don't respond.

The call ends, leaving me alone with her words echoing in my mind as I drive through the quiet streets.

The drive home feels endless, every second dragging under the cacophony of my mind. Granny's words loop relentlessly, overlapping with the image of Kyle's face as he walked away and Jasper's text glowing on my phone screen, now imprinted in my thoughts.

WYWH.

I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building, but I don't get out right away. Instead, I sit there, staring blankly through the windshield. The car's engine hums softly, a low backdrop to the storm inside me—a storm I can't quiet.

Today was everything and nothing I wanted. Too much and not enough. Close, yet still so far. I try to push the thoughts away: the way Jasper smiled at me, his dimples cutting through the tension like a balm, the warmth of his touch when he kissed my cheek. But it's all tangled with the ache of knowing that's all it can be.

My chest tightens as I think about Kyle, about the guilt that still lingers. Then there's Granny, with her quiet certainty—heavier now than before. But nothing weighs more than the truth she saw in me, a truth I can't unsee anymore.

The reality is simple and painful: I want to be the one Jasper turns to. The one he chooses.

But for now, I'll take what I can. If it means being his friend—the one he calls when no one else is there—I'll do it. Even if it breaks me.

Finally, I cut the engine and step out into the cool night air, the sharp chill pulling me from my thoughts. I lock the car and head inside, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. Before I reach my door, I pull out my phone one last time, Jasper's message still burning in my memory.

I type another answer slowly, carefully, my fingers hovering over the words before I send them: I'll be standing by… Always.

Sliding the phone into my pocket, I open the door and get in. When I close it behind me, it feels heavier than it should, like shutting out the world is both a relief and a punishment.

For now, this will have to be enough.