A/N: This idea started from something I wrote for the flash fiction contest hosted by Thimbles every week. If you haven't already checked it out then go and do so, because it's great.

Thanks to Astro for turning this from an incoherent ramble into something worth reading.

I hope you like it.

December 22 is the only day I let myself think of you.

I call in sick to work and sit in the window seat I had made to fit the contours of your body, my much bigger shoulders jutting into the shelves that bite against the top of my spine. I stare at the Christmas lights across the city as they glow in the darkness, remembering that smile of yours – the smile just for me – that makes them look dull in comparison. And then visions of twinkling white flashing across your veil-covered face enter my mind, and I press myself back into the wood and pretend that's what's causing the tears.


Dear Bella,

Do you remember when we met? I can still smell the marinara that got embedded in my hoodie when you bumped into me, and I still smile when I remember how your cheeks flushed redder than the sauce. I knew you of course - the police chief's daughter come home, the new toy for all of Forks to gawk at. They stared and you faltered, stumbled and stuttered and grimaced your way through those first few days of the spotlight. Except when everyone else had grown bored and looked away, I continued to sneak glances at the glint of your hair in the sun or the way your sundress brushed the backs of your thighs.

I'd pretend to be terrible at biology just so I could watch you arch over the microscope, watch the strawberry slick of your tongue as it soothed the chapped skin of your lips and imagine it was touching mine instead. You'd catch me sometimes, forever staring, and your wide eyes trapped me like pomegranate molasses, and I wouldn't doubt that there were moments time stood still as I watched the hammer of your hummingbird heartbeat against your neck. But you'd always look away just as I smiled, leaving it to fall just as I had fallen.

I'd hoped we'd finally talk after I had come up with some clever line to woo you, or after you realized you were desperately in love with me, but in some ways you smashing your lunch tray into my chest was better. You were so embarrassed that it was almost palpable and I got to finally be a guy who could take charge of the situation rather than one gaping at you mindlessly – though of course, that didn't quite stop, and me taking charge was more like buying you a new meal and taking off my sweatshirt. The way your eyes scanned my chest made me think my feelings weren't quite so one-sided though, and that's not something I'll ever regret.

Unrequited love as a teen was raspberry-tart; as an adult it's more bitter than bile. I don't know if you remember, but I'd do anything to forget.

Yours, always,


A/N: This is entirely pre-written, and I hope to post frequently. There's a banner and pic inspiration for this chapter on my profile, for those who like those sorts of things.

Thank you for reading, I'd love to know what you think!