AN: Welcome to my story!

It's fully outlined and, baring any major changes, should be 10 chapters long. I have some chapters pre-written so I am hoping to update once a week.

I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. If i did, Carlisle would feature much more prominently.

"You need to wait outside, Dr Cullen."

I huff and walk back out to my family.

"They have security cameras outside and along the main road, I thought I could wait in there and see him arrive. They wouldn't let me."

Emmett laughs, "No shit, really?"

"It was worth a try Em. I just need to know where he is."

I remember the first time I saw you. I had just moved across the pond from England, keen for a new challenge in my career, fed up of the life of a junior doctor in the UK.

I was trying to get my bearings in my new city, when a music shop announced itself with the sound of a beautiful piano piece flowing out through the door. Inside I found a haven of music. Wandering through the first floor, rows of vinyl and CDs passed me by, almost unnoticed, until the source of the music was revealed to be coming from up a flight of stairs. I followed the sound up and came across a room filled with musical instruments. Without pausing to look at any of the many guitars around, my choice instrument, I headed towards an area where a crowd of people were gathered.

The song was ending as I joined the back of the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the person playing so well. A more-than-just-polite round of applause broke out as the last note had finished sounding, and I finally got my first look at you, as you stood up and took a mini-bow, obviously embarrassed by the attention you were receiving. People came up to speak to you, and I felt this pull to do the same. I hung back until the crowd had disappeared, looking over the different guitars to bide my time, without really paying any actual attention to them.

Eventually the last well wisher had moved away from you, and you sat back at the piano, almost exhausted by the praise. I hesitated to interrupt your moment of peace, your fingers poised above the piano keys almost reverentially. And then you looked up. Your eyes locked onto mine, and suddenly I had no choice but to come and speak to you. Your eyes drew me in baby, as they do to this day. At the time I had no idea of what that meant, except that I had to hear your voice, and have you hear mine. I craved contact with you.

I congratulated you on your wonderful playing. You smiled and blushed, so shy and so sweet. Your voice was quiet, almost timid as you asked me if I had seen anything I liked in the shop. I had to do a double take, your words making me start, before I realised you meant the guitars. I didn't know it at the time, but I had found something in that shop that I would come to much more than like.

As we walked over you told me how you worked in the shop part time, and the boss was happy for you to play the piano there, as you rarely got the chance to play on such an expensive instrument. And clearly, you drew in the customers. I spoke about my love for guitars, and how I could lose myself in music for hours, either playing or listening. You looked so happy at my comment,

"I feel that way, too. It's like you can just play out your frustrations or feelings. It's better than shouting, more creative, more rewarding."

"I can't imagine you shouting, you seem so quiet. It must be the piano's influence on you," I teased, bringing out your blush again. I couldn't explain it, but I already loved to see your cheeks turn pink at a comment I made. The physical proof of the effect I have on you is something I love to this day, although these days, I know to look for more than just a blush.

You were quiet after that, only offering words of opinion on the guitars I was looking at. I was worried I had scared you off a little with my teasing, but as I made moves to leave, you touched my arm,

"I work every weekend. I mean... If you want to come and hear me play again? Or want some more advice? Or something."

I was so relieved that I hadn't offended you with my teasing, that my response was probably a little over-enthusiastic,

"Yes! Of course I'll come back and see you, I'd love to!"

The smile on your face told me my response was welcome, though, and that's all that mattered to me.


Over the next weeks and months, whenever I had a weekend off work, I would come in and see you. Some days you were playing piano, always something new, and others you were swamped with customers. Every time though, I made sure I caught your eye. You would give me a shy smile, and I would browse the shop, hoping to add to my music collection, or trying out the guitars. And, of course, waiting for you to have a free moment. You were so in demand. Such a shy boy, but so well liked. And I was rapidly becoming president of your fan club. You were young, still in high school, and I was 26, nearly 10 years older than you. But I craved your company. You weren't a big talker, unless we were talking about a subject you were passionate about, but something about you calmed me. Something about you drew me in. And I was fairly sure you liked my company, too. The genuine smile that appeared on my face when you saw me, the times you would use your break in work simply to speak to me. The simple things. You made me feel at home in a foreign country.

I still trod carefully, though. I was gay and more than secure in my sexuality, and I had no idea of your orientation. You had never mentioned a girl or boyfriend. And you were still 17. Our friendship was becoming precious to me, and I didn't want to lose it by pushing any boundaries, making you feel I wanted something more from you, something that you didn't want to give. I was content to just be friends; I always would have been content to be friends, as long as it meant you were in my life.


I was on call that weekend, Friday night – Sunday morning. Weekends are never ideal times to be involved in emergency medicine. Don't get me wrong, I love the adrenaline rush of a big trauma call, it was the reason this was my chosen specialty. However, I wasn't so much a fan of dealing with people who fail to understand where their alcohol limit is... and weekends brought out that in a lot of people. But, you have to take the rough with the smooth. I ended up stuck at the hospital for a little longer than my shift on Sunday morning, I wanted to see one of my patients settled into their room upstairs, and personally pass on their case to the surgeon taking over their care.

I passed the music store on the way back to my apartment, it was late enough for it to have opened, so I decided to go in and say hello to you. Fortunately the store was quiet and I got to see you straight away.

"I can't stay long; I didn't get much sleep last night."

I couldn't figure out the reason for the look on your face, but you didn't look happy. And you didn't offer up any more conversation, so I decided to fill the silence,

"I had a big call at work. There was a crash on the interstate and the casualties were brought to us. It was crazy, we were working for hours, pretty much non-stop. But everyone so far is doing ok, and that's the main thing. I must have got about a half hour of sleep. So I'm pretty much running on caffeine and adrenaline, in case I seem a little off to you... Or I can't stop talking... Kind of like now actually... Feel free to jump in at any point..."

"Maybe we could grab some food together?"

You asked so shyly, so uncertain of my response. I thought about gently teasing you, about having to think about my answer. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, the hopeful look on your face shattered my wicked instinct, and I could only reply in one way.

"Of course. Are you free tonight?"