Golden: 1819.

[ofthefamily]

An old face. Calmer, older, and yet all the same unchanged.

At least he's not running for his life, now. And he knows where he is.

For Carlisle Cullen, this is always a good start.

Comments

[themidnightson]

Edward nodded, almost saying it was the basis for everything about how they lived their lives.

[ofthefamily]

"As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them…”

[themidnightson]

Edward can't help that one side of his mouth tugs up, mouth canted crooked more at the method than what it means. "You're getting there now."

[ofthefamily]

"By fidgeting in class."

[themidnightson]

His words are...the proper word is not soft. They are quieter, but it's not in volume, as much as modulation. There are certain things Edward can not say without a far more tilt toward deference, certain things that are so important they can not be said anyway but lightly, banked in understanding only garnered through decades of you-can't-change-this and it-all-started-here.

"No more mortuaries and allies, or bodies cast aside by them." His glance isn't exactly away, but it shifts some. And it's not a straight statement or reminder, when he edges only slightly closer. "Fidgeting is a small price to learning in the light."

[ofthefamily]

You make it sound so...

[themidnightson]

Edward's expression only shifted inquiringly, letting him think.

[ofthefamily]

"Noble."

[themidnightson]

"It's who you are, and what you've chosen." Chose.

And he doesn't stipulate if he means the calling, or Carlisle's term.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle reflexively interprets it as the former.

This whole situation is bizarre.

[themidnightson]

Edward snorted, his face contorting dangerously close to a smile even behind the hand that rose to it. "I hadn't noticed."

[ofthefamily]

"You agree with me, don't even try to hide that -- "

A mild protest to covering his expression (his smile) Carlisle pushes at Edward's hand to shoo it away from providing cover.

[themidnightson]

Edward twisted his wrist fast, to catch the hand at his, as he shook his head. His lips stayed in the crooked smile, perhaps strayed even further with his low, teasing tone.

"I could still be undecided." You know, with Carlisle's hand still in his, and him choosing to take another step into Carlisle's space. It could happen. In some alternate universe. "You've had far more time to think about it."

[ofthefamily]

Far too close to be comfortable, it all comes out in a rush, "And if you thought any of this was normal, you wouldn't look at me half the time as though I could hurt you."

[themidnightson]

It stops. Almost like a clock.

Edward doesn't release the hand, but his fingers are almost instead a loop. Holding, more than touching. And his smile. Isn't much of a smile. And the contents of sensation inside his chest, at that truth inherent...

He went to take a step back.

[ofthefamily]

"You're leaving?" Now?

[themidnightson]

He makes it the one step. Without releasing the hand.



His thoughts don't make coherent lines even.




He doesn't sigh. He doesn't want to pretend that much.



His eyes end up at his hand on Carlisle's, not even clear enough to stay on whether he should let go. "You can." Isn't broken. Isn't soft or loud. And has nothing to do with his most recent question, but with the statement that stuck, and is far too close into you will.

[ofthefamily]

"But -- goodness sake, Edward, why -- "

[themidnightson]

"You'll figure out where you belong."

The last word coming just as he finally lets go.

[ofthefamily]

"No -- "

Carlisle lunges into Edward's space and kisses him squarely on the mouth.

When he pulls away, "I only belong to myself; not any where there is."

[themidnightson]

Certain things still happen faster than the thought to do them. Without pause. Without perusal. Without question. Without planning. Carlisle's mouth crashing into him at pretty much the same instant as the thought to do so.

Leaving his first millisecond stone cold still, and his second with both hands suddenly on his arms, clenched, uncertain even what he means to do with him. Uncertain they are even there the moment after they move, distracted (or is it focused?) on where Carlisle is touching him.

On his lips. On his denial.
(On the offer made minutes ago.)

On the waver that his body gives when Carlisle pulls back.

[ofthefamily]

With a note of finality, and Carlisle can't even look at Edward straight on,

"People can only belong to other people."

[themidnightson]

That is his point. But he can't bring himself to move his lips yet. He can see her face, hear her voice, the way she'll grow and flourish. The gentleness for her great heart. The horrible ending she never had because of Carlisle. How much Edward will grow to love her, does even in this moment.

Has he learned more than hate, jealousy, replacement, longing, rebellion, and acceptance at the hands of love? It's a lie to say he hasn't. As hard as it is to perceive it now. Whatever was best of love he's seen because of them. Through them.

Through, though. Not from. Not in.

And when his head is lost in a place Carlisle, this Carlisle, has never been, he doesn't even quite recognize his voice, conceding, as though to a mistake Edward had made, "Maybe you don't know."

[ofthefamily]

Are you trying to have me stand here to be insulted? Now I am ignorant of the issues here?

[themidnightson]

Somehow even as it's happening, he thinks it shouldn't surprise him. The flash of anger that scores through him at the thought. His hands tightening as he jerked Carlisle closer.

"I meant about me." ....and he meant both of them.

You know me.


Do I?