My other fandom is on hiatus (whhhyyyy!?), but I still have a need to write.

I blame my sister for recommending these books to me and thus leading to my imminent distraction/involvement in the fandom.

This takes place in ‘New Moon’, I suppose, shortly before Jacob’s werewolf transformation. This silly little idea was (unknowingly) given to me by the brilliant mod over at the J/B community. Yes, I am a Jacob/Bella shipper. (Sorry, kids.)

And I don’t own the Twilight series. (Sorry, wallet.)

These days, Bella was caught in a weird stage of in-between. Jacob’s warm presence had begun to thaw out her numbness, which was, in truth, just frostbite; but her hands were still stiff from their long duration of night’s biting cold, and the world was perceived through dulled nerves. She had begun to define the passing of time in terms of Jacob Black, the way the earth marks time by the rising and setting of the sun; but she still dreaded the lavender twilights, the darkness, and the pre-dawn grays in between their encounters.

Yeah, she was pretty messed up.

And that wasn’t even counting the hole in her chest, which no longer throbbed or bled the way it used to. She wasn’t sure whether or not this was a welcome development. (The pain had been the only thing tying her to his existence, after all.)

But, all prior zombie behavior considered, Bella thought that she was doing pretty well, thank you very much. Sitting in History class and looking down at her completed quiz on the 1930’s, she wasn’t trying to keep a mask in place, or hold back screams; she was just looking forward to seeing Jacob. The normalcy of the thoughts almost shocked her. But there they were.

It would be one of their study sessions tonight, which were quickly turning into competitions to see which of them could finish a subject before the other. Whoever slapped down their pencil first was tentatively declared the winner. Only after they swapped papers and checked for errors, though, was the victory confirmed; so far, the record was even. The prize was choosing what dinner Bella would prepare.

It was sort of amusing to watch Jake in the kitchen where he was so out of his element, having lived on Billy’s pasta for years. “Payback for putting me to shame in the garage,” she would tell him. He’d found his niche, though; the cans on the top shelves were now much more accessible. It let him put his astonishing height to use, at least. Any taller and he would have to duck using their doorways….not that Bella minded his size, really. Come to think of it, it was kind of nice.

When she leaned against him while watching television, his broad shoulder made for an excellent, supportive headrest.

His large hand all but encompassed hers when they walked together, fingers joined like puzzle pieces.

Resonating from such a deep chest, his hearty laughter more than made up for the happiness she was not (yet) capable of.

He was sturdy and tall and gave warm, gratuitous embraces. He was a safe harbor.

But what was nicest was that while she certainly looked like a little doll beside him, as he had put it, Jake never treated her as such. He never acted like she was fragile, or delicate, or on the brink of insanity.

She was just Bella Swan, the way that he was just Jacob Black.

These two facts (which remained immutable, in the end) somehow kept the universe in order.

“Time’s up,” Ms. Delacroix’s sharp tone broke in. “And please, everyone, put your names on the quizzes this time. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last week.”

The twisted look of irritation on her face caused a few bubbles of discreet laughter to rise up from the rows of desks: the woman was just so anal about these things. She gave a sweeping glare and began to stride down the tight aisles, gathering up the papers and stacking them in the crook of her gaunt arm. Bella’s eyes skimmed what she had written before handing it over.

The steady rhythm of Ms. Delacroix’s boots abruptly stopped.

“As I recall, Bella, this isn’t your name.” She slid the paper back, one long finger hovering over the spot.

The real reason Bella hated being so pale was not because of its oddity, as she would say, or because of any foolish vanity; it was because blushes stained her face like red paint spilled on a canvas. It was as if she had a flashing sign over her head that proclaimed her embarrassment to the world.

And the flush that colored her face then, looking down, was a doozy.

There, at the top of the sheet and in her slanted, rounded script, she had written:

Bella Black.

She erased it in a fury, not even bothering to meticulously wipe away the debris before shoving it back to Ms. Delacroix, and sunk down in her chair. Jake would get a kick out of it if she told him, of course, but she wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea about anything. They were, after all, just friends.

Sitting one seat back and having glanced Bella’s error, Angela shook her head. She didn’t know much about the Quileute boy (Bella did not like to share him, even in mentioning), but she knew enough.

She leaned forward and tapped her friend’s shoulder. It was looking noticeably less bony and slumped as of late. Good.

Bella turned an ear.

“It’s not just a river in Egypt, you know,” Angela stage whispered.

Bella frowned in confusion, and any further conversation was cut off as Ms. Delacroix launched into the next topic. The two girls returned to their gazes to the front.

Bella thought no more of it, and was cautious as to how she signed her papers for the rest of the day.

(Although, had she gone back over her notes taken in the past week, she would have noticed that ‘Bella Black’ appeared quite a few times in the margins. And then there was the question of Jacob’s name itself, scattered across the lined pages with circles drawn around it; because hearts break, but circles don’t, and the sun outlasts a heartbeat any given day, anyway…)

Normal friend behavior, of course.

Comments (and CRITIQUE) are very appreciated.