Sharing a Pillow
by Mackenzie L.
Alice and Jasper stargaze on a quiet night. Requested one-shot for A/J.
* Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer
His voice reminded her of rolling sand dunes in the desert at night - low, smooth and slightly dark. She heard it so often, yet it never lost that briny edge of mystery.
He told her stories on quiet nights - romantic nonsense from his past, tales that 19th Century soldiers told on rare nights when the skies were clear of scarlet smoke.
She had long since memorized every fable he recounted, but he recited them anyway. She never turned down the chance to listen.
They used to do this every night, after the sun would take its evening dive beneath the horizon line. They had their bed placed just under the skylights, so they would always have something beautiful to look at while pretending to sleep through the night. The windows were almost always open. It never mattered how cold it was. The conversation and the company, alike, were warm.
They shared a single pillow. The oldest one they owned. It was plain cotton; unassuming, and its case was a shade of white that was even more worn than the feathers of an aged dove. The corners were frayed, but it was still in one piece. They would have loved it still, had it been in two pieces by now. But then they couldn't share it.
And that was the best part of looking at the sky together.
The sky was so familiar to them. And though the vastness of the atmosphere belonged to no one, it always felt like their sky. A personal midnight blue playground for their collective imagination.
Together they had connected the shapes of every constellation ever charted, and when the maps offered no more for them to discover, they named their own.
Alice was certain she had seen her good soldier in many places amongst the stars. A dashing young hero upon his horse, silently racing through the peaceful explosions of their galaxy.
And yes, she saw herself as well. A brave and beautiful fairy, chasing after the handsome soldier on light feet. She would never catch up to him, but he was forever looking back at her, forever awaiting the unreachable moment when their hands would finally grasp, and he would pull her up onto his horse so they could ride off into the endless night.
However intangible her starry hero seemed, she was always thrilled to come back down and find that he was here. Right beside her. And he would remain there for as long as eternity lasted. She never had to chase him. He never had to wait for her. Because they were always together.
She turned her head to face him slightly, to meet the lazy passion in the gold foil of his eyes.
There was something so intimate about having her head so close to his that they were touching. Despite how chaste the contact was, it did not feel like just a touch to her. It was never just a touch with him.
Reading the silent script of her emotions, he reaches down to grasp her hand.
His eyes tell her just as clearly, it was never just a touch.
Part of her spirit sifted into him with every silent brush of her fingers, and that slow, precious sensation was all the proof they needed to believe their souls were in perfect synchronization.
In a quiet, carefree moment like this, it is so easy to forget and forgive. Everything they have done, all of the mistakes they have made, every drop of blood spilt at his hands, and every day she wallowed in hesitation before finding him hurries away with the chilly breeze that sweeps through the open windows.
Lay their love on the horizon and there is no vanishing point. The lines never converge; they shy away from any suggestion of intersection. They only go on forever, in a flirtatious chase after infinity - just like the light of the stars above them.