A/N: Dear yogagal, when we heard it was your birthday today, we wanted to give you something special. These boys thought it'd be fun to join in and share a little about themselves.
Hope you have a fantastic day!
Lots of love from SorceressCirce and naelany
As always, we do not own Twilight. We just like to play with the boys.
Staring up at the ceiling, I sigh. It's been a few weeks now, and even though I'm slowly - oh, so slowly - starting to feel better, I'm still so damn tired all the time. I hate it.
I hate even more that I've been stuck in this house - in my room - this whole time, with no one being allowed to visit. I know my aunt means well, but it... sucks.
I miss being in class, and hanging out with the guys. I miss being a part of our theater group.
Most of all, I miss Emmett.
I close my eyes, groaning.
The door creaks, and I groan again. I know it's her.
"Edward? Are you feeling ill, dear?"
"No, Aunt Esme," I answer, sitting up too quickly and swaying unsteadily.
Now it will be even longer until I'm allowed out.
She clucks her tongue and walks over to press the back of her hand to my forehead. With a frown, she reaches into her apron and pulls out the dreaded thermometer.
As she slips it under my tongue, I try to control my temper. She means well. She always has, ever since she took me in when Mom died.
She sits on the edge of my bed and reaches out, running her fingers through my hair in a manner that's meant to be soothing. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, fighting the urge to pull away – I hate the feeling it gives me of being ten years old again.
Swallowing hard, I think back to the day I was first put under the care of Esme Platt – my mother's aunt, whom I hadn't met before. A kindly lady, who had come halfway across the country as soon as she heard about Mom's passing.
The only family I have left.
She brings me chicken soup, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. When the door closes, I lean against my headboard, sipping the broth mechanically.
She's convinced I have the flu, not mono. And that I'm ten instead of seventeen.
And that I'm not gay.
I grimace as I remember her words the day I came out to her.
"Nonsense, dear… you just haven't met the right girl."
That was the only time she ever openly addressed my sexuality, and it was to deny it. The rest of the time, she ignores it. She just… doesn't get it.
Draining the last of the soup, I sigh and place the bowl on my nightstand before falling back onto my pillows with a feeling of dissatisfaction. I clasp my hands over my chest and stare at the ceiling again.
Tonight of all nights, I wish I could go out. It's opening night for the play we'd been working on before I got sick. I'd been ecstatic when I'd landed my first lead role at auditions, but mono derailed everything, and I'd had to give it up to Tyler.
After the show, everyone'll go to the diner to celebrate, like always.
A glance at my clock shows me it's nearly time for the curtain to rise. I close my eyes, mouthing my opening lines in The Importance of Being Earnest. From Emmett's texts – and the pictures he included from rehearsals – Tyler is a rough fit for Jackat best.
I hate that I had to leave them hanging.
I hate even more than I'm stuck here, day after day.
My stomach growls in envy as the hours pass until I know they're sitting at a table in the diner, riding that opening-night high.
Something plinks against my window.
As quickly as I can manage, I get up, walking to the balcony doors. Before I can open them, another plink lets me know that someone's still there.
"Who on earth..?" I mutter.
My eyes widen as I spot him. "Emmett?" I gasp.
His signature grin spreads. He winks, holding up a paper bag. His voice is pitched low, barely carrying up to me. "I come bearing gifts."
Leaning over the balcony, I can't keep from grinning at the sight of him, but even that can't mask the sadness in my voice. "You can't come in. Esme won't allow it."
His smile falters before he shrugs. "You're contaminated anyway, right? Can't have your germs all over me."
If I didn't know him well, I'd miss the hurt in his voice. But I do know him, and I catch the slightly higher pitch that tells me he's hiding something.
Watching him down on the sidewalk, I feel both happier and more miserable than I have all day.
And then he starts to climb the trellis with the bag in one hand.
"Emmett!" I hiss, looking over my shoulder and then back to him. "What are you doing?"
"Rescuing you," he jokes.
Holding my breath, I anxiously watch him as he reaches just below the balcony. He pushes the paper bag through the railing and grabs one of the rings to keep from falling.
"Hey there, beautiful," he murmurs, grinning again.
I roll my eyes, blushing at the term of endearment. "Hey, yourself."
He moves to secure himself with both hands, and then our eyes meet again. Precious minutes pass as I drink him in – and he, me.
He clears his throat, tilting his head to the bag. "Might want to eat that soon, before it's completely cold. Got you your favorite."
My stomach rumbles loudly, and Emmett chuckles. "That's my boy."
I narrow my eyes at him before I shrug sheepishly.
"She still not feeding you?"
"She's just doing what she thinks she should." The defense rises to my lips automatically, even though Emmett knows it all – how I feel, why I feel the way I do.
His eyes hold understanding. "Go eat, Ed."
I shake my head. "No way."
"It's been weeks since I got to see you, Em," I admit gruffly. "Fuck food."
He swallows slowly and shifts, hooking his foot so he can reach for my hand.
Squeezing my hand, he looks earnestly up at me, regret and determination in his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't think to do this sooner, baby."
I frown, shaking my head and swallowing hard before saying, "Don't, Em. It's okay. I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed until recently, anyway."
He scans my face, his brow furrowing as he no doubt notices how tired I still am. "You starting to feel better, at least?"
I nod, smiling softly.
"Good." He sighs. "I won't let you be all alone anymore, Ed."
"But Aunt Esme, she-"
"Doesn't have to know."
We watch each other for a long moment with me hanging over the balcony and him clinging to the railing.
Finally, he sighs. "I miss you, Ed."
He's told me every day in texts and on the phone, but hearing it in person – seeing his face as he says it – makes it real.
"I miss you, too."
"Not much longer now," he promises. He pulls my hand closer and places a lingering kiss on it before smiling up at me. "And I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."
My heart already feels lighter as I whisper, "I love you, too."