Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns any and all Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is the author's original work and property. Copyright 2010 by hyacinthgirl18. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without the author's express written authorization, for that would be plagiarism and, as such, is deeply frowned upon.

-x-

Lemon, pt 3 of The Orchard

-x-

"You've got some es-plainin' to do, cuddle-buddy stealer!"

"Merf," I groan into my pillow as something soft—I assume Lauren's counterpart to mine—lands on the back of my head, rudely ripping me away from the last downy remnants of my dream.

"Get up, bitch, we're about to have a throwdown right now! Fight like a man—I mean—girl! Whatever, just get—the—fuck—up!"

"Shove off and come back later," I moan, rolling over and dragging my duvet over my head. Sometime in the night, I kicked it half off of my bed so that it only covered my torso. As I inhale, spice and something foreign to my sheets but familiar to me fills my nose, and I sit up at once, shrouded in the comforter. "Oh my god," I gasp, scrabbling to pull it off.

Lauren stands at the side of my bed, her pillow in hand, staring down at me with an expression torn between amusement and vexation. "I wasn't aware that you were drunk enough last night to forget anything. Especially stealing—my—cuddle—buddy!" She punctuates each word with a smack of the pillow, and I throw myself backwards off the other side of my bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can explain! No, wait, I can't explain. I mean, I can kind of explain. Will you drop the fucking pillow?" I screech as she jumps over my bed to continue her feathery beating.

"My cuddle-buddy, Bella, how could you? And no, I won't drop the fucking pillow until you ex—plain—yourself!"

"Ow," I groan as the pillow falls away from my face. "Did you stuff your pillowcase with a memory foam pillow or what? Jesus, Lauren, that shit hurts."

She snorts, but thankfully the pillow ceases its brutal attack on my visage. "Coffee's in the kitchen. I'll be waiting on the couch, and then—then, you better start talking or I'm dumping that useless load of porn DVD's Tyler left here in the pillowcase and going at you with those nasty things."

"Ew."

"Yeah, ew. So get your ass up and think over what you're going to say very carefully, my dear roommate. I did not appreciate having to put the purple rabbit to use last night."

She flounces from the room then, leaving me groaning at the prospect of both elucidating everything for her and the residual bruised feeling from her fucking Attack of the Pillow.

Bitch.

I rub my hands over my eyes, knuckling the sleep-boogers from the corners, and sigh loudly. This will definitely notbe fun or easy.

-x-

"So, wait, you knew each other from high school?"

"Yes," I sigh, flopping over the back of the couch and leaving my legs to dangle over it. "We were partners in advanced chemistry senior year. And we may or may not have slept together once."

"What? Oh my God, no wonder you're asexual now, if you fucked that beautiful specimen. Every other guy is Quasimodo in comparison."

"Lauren," I complain, "don't say it like that. It wasn't… I mean… God, it wasn't just sex, okay?"

"You said you knew him from a class, and you 'may' have slept together. That makes it just sex," she argues. "You weren't dating, right?"

"Right," I admit.

"Then it was just sex."

"Lauren, no, it wasn't, okay? Why do you think he ditched you for me last night if it was just sex?" I burst out, glaring at her upside down.

"Because it was really good sex?"

I groan. "No, Lauren, not just really good. He's the guy I was talking about the night before last. Remember, incineration guy? The one who left the West Coast right after?"

"I didn't actually hear much of whatever you were saying then. You were talking too fast," she argues defensively. "Either tell me again or admit I'm right now. I'm still probably right."

I take a deep breath and slowly start our story, going more in depth this time, from chemistry partners to the moment he dropped me off on Kate's doorstep before leaving.

By the time I'm done, I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch facing her, using my hands excessively and drowning anew in something heavy and dreamlike.

"Oh," she finally says after I've been quiet for a few minutes. "Well, now that may change things. Because that boy was like a cat outta the bathwater—gone as soon as he realized what the hell was going on."

I laugh a little, the tightness in my chest relieving as the movement shakes my heart free of its anchors. "Thanks, Lauren, I appreciate your analogy."

"No, really, Bella, I take it back. If it was just sex, you'd be able to laugh it off, but obviously it's been haunting you for years. Can I ask a few questions?"

"Sure," I answer warily, waving a hand. "Ask away to your heart's desire."

"When you slept around freshman year and I used to hear you crying after every guy left—because of Edward?"

"Erm… yes."

"All the blondes, and only blondes, because they didn't remind you of him?"

"Yeah, probably, but I hadn't really noticed that part until you brought it up."

"The reason you stopped sleeping with guys was because you realized you were in love with him?"

"What?" I squawk, almost falling sideways off the couch. "What? No, no! Dude, Lauren, I only slept with him once and he annoyed the hell out of me before that! It's just… like… chemical attraction or something."

"Bullshit," she snorts. "That's definitely part of it, but it's not all of it, bitch, and don't even try to deny it again."

"I'm not in love with him," I repeat, glaring at her.

"But you could be," she wheedle.

"No, not the way it is right now."

"Yes."

"Uh, no. Now shut up and ask me a different question or something."

"Fine, how do you know you're not in love with him?"

"Ugh," I groan, flopping back away from her and staring up at the ceiling. "Because, Lauren, most of it's physical. If we ever get to know each other emotionally as well, then yeah, it's probable that I might fall in love with him. But I'm not right now, okay?"

"Fine, I believe you," she says easily. I know she's smiling even as I roll my eyes, avoiding her sure-to-be-smug face.

"Whatever," I grumble. "Are we done now?"

"No," Lauren answers immediately. When she starts laughing, I roll off the couch and trudge back down the hallway for a shower. "I love you, Umbrella!" follows my retreat, and I hold up a single eloquent finger back in her direction.

I don't have to say aloud that she's my best friend for a reason.

-x-

"Hello?" I answer, setting down my iced tea and dumping my laptop next to it. I sigh as I settle into my seat at the coffee shop on campus, stretching my legs out underneath the table.

"Are you really that sorry to hear from me?"

My eyes flash open as heat flares under my skin. "Oh! Edward. Uh… Sorry, no, I'm glad to hear from you. I just… I didn't check my caller ID, so I wasn't expecting…"

"Didn't think I'd call, Peach?"

I blush. "Well, it has been almost a week," I say defensively, reaching out for a Sweet 'N Low to stir into my tea.

"I've been settling in," he complains. "Classes started yesterday, remember?"

"No, I missed all of mine." I roll my eyes though he can't see, even as I wish he could.

"Sure you did. I'm positive you forgot all about them."

"Yup. I was too focused on the fact that you hadn't called. I spent all day yesterday staring at my phone instead of going to class. I was an absolute mess," I joke.

"Oh, damn, I'm so sorry, Peach. How about I make it up to you? Want to meet at my apartment?"

I bite my lip, setting my tea down hastily instead of completing its journey to my mouth. "Uh… is that the best idea?"

"I meant to talk, Bella, catch up. You know? My roommate's home, if that makes you feel better."

Is that hurt I detect under his playful prodding?

"Sure, then. Address?" He rattles it off as I frantically look for a pen, laughs and repeats it when I finally find one. "Okay, I'll see you soon?"

"Sure thing, Peach."

"Hey…" I hesitate, then decide to go for it. "How'd you know I was home the other night?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I felt it."

"How?" I press, wanting to know if we're on the same level here, desperate to be sure I'm not alone in this.

"I don't know how to explain it, Bella, I just… I could feel you. Were you at the club with Lauren earlier that night?"

"Yes…" I recall the electric tingles that had caused me to drop my glass, and the warmth that had made me flee to cold air. So it had been him. "I left, though."

"I know. But the only reason I approached Lauren is because… I don't know. If you ever tell anyone, I'll have to kill you, but I wasn't really in control. One minute I'm standing across the club and the next I'm at her table, wondering why what felt right a minute ago, now felt wrong."

"It's because I left," I say softly, curling a piece of my hair around my finger. "I kept looking back at the table too. I thought I'd left my purse behind or something, but… I guess it was you."

"Let's try not to repeat that, Peach. I don't like expecting you and then being left without."

My stomach flutters, and I take a deep breath as I end the call and reach out for my tea. I'll drink it on the go. I'm too eager to see him again to wait and finish it here.

-x-

"Hey," I say, awkwardly shifting my weight from my left to my right foot and fumbling with the strap of my bag. "Er… I'm Bella?"

"I guessed." The guy standing in the doorway is familiar, though where I might know him from is a little fuzzy. "He's not home yet, but he should be here within a half hour. Wanna come in?"

"Uh…" I look up and down the hallway. "You are Edward's roommate, right?" I ask, just to be sure. Don't want to end up in some random guy's apartment at his mercy. Nope, I'm smarter than that. I hope.

"Edward Masen, yeah." He grins at me, leaning against the door frame. "Why? You don't trust me?"

"I don't know you," I remind him, smiling a little against my will. "I normally don't trust people I don't know."

He gasps dramatically, clutching a handful of his dark hair. "I'm so offended! How rude! You're going to have to stay out here in the hall to wait."

Confused, I run my finger under the strap of my bag again. "Um… I'm sorry? Should I know you?"

"We only attended the same school for four years, Bella."

I gape at him. "Uh, really? Wow. Er… I mean… people change a lot between high school and college?"

He laughs, and it suddenly springs into place.

"Emmett Cullen!" I snap my fingers as I shout, pointing at him obnoxiously. "Right? Right?"

"Right!" he shouts back, hopping up and down melodramatically. "And you're Bella Swan!"

"Right!" I shake my head, laughing at him and the situation. "Are you still teaching soccer to the kids?"

"Come on in, we can talk easier in here. Plus," he drops his voice to a whisper, "there's a pervert down the hall who likes to stare at me. I feel like she wants to lick me, which is gross, and she's like psychic, I swear she knows every single time I open the door."

I duck under his arm and glance around. For guys, they aren't that messy—I'm ashamed to admit that Lauren and I are actually much worse. It's a small but comfortable living room that opens up into the kitchen, separated by the bar. I let my bag slide down my arm, setting it next to the door as I wander over to the navy sectional and plop down. The material is soft, and, when I inhale, smells faintly of Edward.

Which I like.

A lot.

"So?" I turn back to Emmett, pretending I haven't just been sitting on his couch with my eyes closed.

"So what?"

"How've you been for the last three and a half years?" I tuck my foot under the opposite leg, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch.

"Fine. I'm starting my last year at Seattle University. I'm an English major," he supplies, shrugging. "You?"

"Last year at U-Dub, International Business major. You never said if you were still teaching soccer?"

"The proper term is actually coaching, but yeah." A grin splits across his face, his eyes lighting up. "I'm working with one of the youth leagues in Seattle right now, and I still help out with my dad's kids whenever I get back home. I don't think I'll ever give it up, you know?"

"What exactly do you like about it so much? I mean, why don't you play yourself?"

"I feel better coaching than I do playing. Sure, it's fun to be on the team, but I've never been all that into competition. I like feeling as if I'm part of something, and you get that more from youth leagues than in competitive older play. Once you grow up, you're competing against your own teammates for playing time and skill and, fuck, even the hot chicks on the sidelines. Coaching is more relaxing, not so nasty."

In those few sentences, I feel like Emmett Cullen has been summed up. We'd never said more than a few words to each other in high school, and I wonder why that was. We didn't have much in common then, maybe?

I like to think that we now have one very important person in common.

"That's pretty deep," I note, wondering if my surprise is noticeable on my face.

He shrugs. "I guess you can call it chicken salad if you want to, it's just how it is."

Smirking, I roll my eyes. "Call it chicken salad? Haven't heard that in ages, since I was little."

"I like to throw stuff out there every once in a while," he says, leaning back into the couch and spreading his arms. "Can I ask you something?"

Slightly taken aback, I nod. "Sure, it's only fair."

"Did Edward leave so soon after graduation because of you?"

I pause, pursing my lips and tilting my head. "I'm not sure, honestly. Part of me thinks yes, and part of me thinks I was just some girl and I didn't have that kind of power."

Bullshit, it was totally what happened between us that ran him off. We were just kids who'd been entirely freaked out and scared when we jumped from the shallow pool into the deeper water by accident. When it had closed over our heads, drowning us in each other, both of us fought to break the surface again and breathe normally.

I can't believe I'm almost looking forward to diving in again, willingly instead of obliviously. Hopefully we'll have oxygen tanks this time, so we won't have to surface.

Emmett looks at me seriously, and I straighten in response. "Look, Bella, we didn't talk much but you always seemed nice to me in high school. But sometimes even nice girls can be dangerous for a guy, you know?"

My brow furrows. "Not really. Explain."

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm almost positive whatever you and Edward did the night of that party is the reason he booked it out of town five weeks sooner than he'd originally been planning. Whatever happened between you scared the shit out of him or hurt him; I didn't ask which, but it was one of the two, maybe both. Even when the guy's across the country talking to me on the phone, I can tell when he's lying to me."

He sighs heavily and stares at me. I shiver, moving my arm in toward my body, suddenly chilled.

"You're a nice girl, or you were at least. But he'd never reacted like that before. You're dangerous, Bella. You don't understand how much control you have over him, or what you could do to him with that power. And quite frankly, I'm afraid for him. He'd kick my ass if he knew I were having this conversation with you, but it's necessary. I don't want him fleeing for the fucking east coast again. I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that."

I stare, flushed, my pulse pounding in my temples and my head floating dizzily. "I'm not going to hurt him, Emmett, I promise."

"You didn't mean to last time," he reminds me gently. "And he didn't mean to either, but both of you were more affected than you'd like to admit. He's a bit wiser now, and you should be too. If you get involved, you both know it won't just be sex."

"I know," I mutter, breaking away from his gaze. His eyes are a much darker blue than they have right to be.

"Do you really?"

I nod, swallowing harshly. "Yeah," I answer quietly. "I want more out of this than a one-night stand."

"How much more?"

"I don't… I don't know yet. I don't know what he's willing to give, and it's not like I'm going to demand anything or take it from him by force. He has a choice in this as much as I do."

"That's the thing, Bella. Is it really a choice, for either of you?"

My blood tumbles through my veins in a rush, flinging heat over me like a blanket, and I can hear my heart thumping strongly, can feel it in my abdomen, neck, temples, wrists. I recall the blinding need to be near Edward, to touch him, to spend as much of my time as I can with him. The electric pull between us seems purposeful, as if we had been designed that way, opposite charges to attract and fill our empty, searching valence shells.

It isn't a choice. It isn't an accident. It just… is. We're meant to be two components of a covalent bond, not the ions that were the result of our broken relations in high school. We complete each other.

Holy shit, that's crazy. I am crazy. We are crazy. But it works, somehow. I'm just never going to admit I ever thought that.

I'm saved from answering as the door to the apartment is flung open, a disheveled, panting Edward falling through just a moment later. I stare over at him, partially in shock for his grand entrance and partially because I can't control my eyes around him—Emmett is already laughing.

"Owww," Edward groans from the floor, rolling over and letting his bag fall off. "Holy shit, that hurt. Fucking pervert…"

"Nice, bro, I'd give that a 3.41 on the Richter scale. I swear some poor country just fell in the ocean as soon as your fat ass landed," Emmett sniggers. "Is Ms. Perv patrolling today, then?"

I let out a startled laugh, and Edward tilts his head back to look at me. "Damn, I was hoping to beat you here. I ran from the bus stop."

"Sorry, I trained with the Flash." I shrug and get off the couch, walking over to help him up off the floor. "You okay, Heavy Weight?"

"Are you calling me fat?" Edward's eyes widen comically, and I purse my lips to keep from laughing, waving my helpful hand in front of him.

"Maybe."

"Hmph. Then you shouldn't be offering to help me. My overweight body would cause you to topple down on me… on second thought, give me that hand."

I help him up off the floor, his callused hand enveloping mine and shooting zings of energy through my nervous system. Chemical reaction, or just a normal male-female thing?

"I can't believe you got here before me," he complains, stretching out once he stands in front of me. As his arms lift, fingers linking over his head, his gray t-shirt rises to reveal the dark coarse hairs that trail over his abdomen and disappear under the waist of his black jeans. I quickly avert my eyes as a flash of heat blossoms inside me, unfurling as a moonflower does at the slightest touch of silver in the night.

"Like I said, me and the Flash are cool with each other. We go on morning jogs around the world every day." I try to keep my face serious as he smirks down at me, his lashes dark and his irises light.

"Oh, that explains it. I usually hang out with Poison Ivy in the mornings. She's teaching me how to grow plants that'll help me take over the world. Some even hold you fast people down." He drops an eyebrow, reaching up to tug on my scarf a little. It feels like he missed and grabbed my heartstrings instead. "Aren't you hot in this? Why are you still wearing your shoes? Go on, make yourself at home. I'll even give you a tour."

"I forgot. Emmett and I got to talking." I glance over my shoulder while I unwind my scarf, smiling slightly at Edward's roommate. He grins back, nodding at me as we silently end our previous conversation. We both know the answer.

"Really." Edward's eyes flicker between us before he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, grabbing mine and draping them both over his forearm. I wonder why I've never noticed what nice forearms men had. Or maybe I just study him in much greater detail than I ever did for anybody else. It would explain why the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles causes a flood of melted brain to clog my system.

"Come on, I'll give you a quick tour. Toe your shoes off by the door," he orders. I hastily kick my Keds off. The contrast between my white canvas shoes and his dark leather boots is almost as comical as the contrast between us, and just as endearing as I could hope for.

I hate myself for how I sound around him, what he reduces me to.

He takes three steps and then turns to face me, the damn smirk in place as he motions with his free hand toward the couch and TV. "That's the living room. Emmett is usually in the corner with the armchair, curled around his laptop or a book. I'm usually asleep on homework spread across the couch."

I laugh, remembering how the couch had smelled more like him than anything else. The explanation is simple as it is unexpected.

"This," he says, gesturing the opposite way, "is obviously the kitchen." Turning, he continues down a narrow hallway off the living room. "Bathroom. It's probably a little messy today—tomorrow's deep-clean day," he mutters, pointing at the appropriate door.

A few steps down the hallway, he pauses. "Emmett's room is down at the end of the hall. This is mine."

I sweep my gaze over his decently sized room, taking in the pale wood floors, the clear garbage can full of dead pens and crumpled balls of paper, and the plants.

So he hadn't been joking that night. He does garden.

The room smells mildly spicy and slightly floral, a strange but potent mix. Pots of plants sit along a shelf over his desk, some bright with flowers and others green without. I think back to his parents' house—it had been dark that night, but I recall walking by it occasionally when it was light out, before I'd ever set foot inside. There had always been pretty greenery outside, along the path and in the planters under the windows in front of the house. I'd always figured they had a gardener or that Mrs. Masen enjoyed the sunlight when she could by pruning her shrubs, but it had been him all along.

It was always him.

"Sorry it's not clean," he says, dropping our jackets and my scarf over the foot of his bed, "I didn't plan to invite you over until we talked earlier on the phone."

"I don't mind." I mean it. The mess is honest, and it tells stories about him that he might never tell me himself. I wander over to the plant on his bedside table, pressing the pad of my finger to the velvety softness of a deeply purple flower. "These are really pretty. Lavender?"

His soft chuckle fills the otherwise quiet room, the sound warm and smooth, like a shot of whiskey. "No, those are hyacinths. Don't you know anything about plants?"

I blush, looking at him over my shoulder. "Not really," I admit sheepishly. "I just know they're pretty, they recycle air, and sometimes they smell nice or have herbal properties. Oh, and they grow in dirt and eat sunlight and water."

He laughs again, stepping closer and crouching down next to my leg, in front of the small plant. "Well, like I said, these are hyacinths. They come in a lot of colors, but I personally like the purple because of what they stand for."

"What d'you mean?" I ask, staring down at the top of his head. His hair is dark at the roots, and has that soft look of having been washed recently. I resist the urge to run my fingers down the back of his neck, from his hair to just beneath the collar of his shirt, where his skin calls to my own.

"Back in history, most plants and flowers had specific meanings attached to them. They were used to communicate, sometimes, between lovers and friends in Victorian society. Purple hyacinths are apologies, asking for forgiveness. I'm not religious, so I depend on these to free me from guilt sometimes."

At this, I can't help but to rest my hand gently on his warm shoulder. "I never knew any of that."

"A lot of people don't." His voice is quiet, and he doesn't move his gaze from the small plant. "My mother showed me. I never learned that flowers were girly—I'm an only child, so she'd take me outside to garden with her when I was little. I liked to help her, so I'd follow her around slopping water out of the can instead of on the plants, and she'd let me, telling me stories about the plants. I grew up on them, and it kind of became our thing. By the time I realized most guys didn't care about flowers beyond giving them for dates in the hopes of getting in some girl's pants, I was already too far into it."

I swallow, feeling my breathing deepen and my eyes prickle as I looked back at the unassuming blossoms.

"Some of my favorite memories are gardening with my mom. The summer we planted our lemon tree was good, but the poor thing's stunted by all the damn rain and frost in the winter months. We never quite learned how to protect it from frost correctly." He sighs, my hand rising and falling with the movement of air in and out of his chest. "I wish I'd thought about some way to protect her, you know?"

"Edward, nobody could have known," I murmur softly, sinking onto the bed until I'm at his level, tightening my fingers in his shirt. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Logically, I know that, but I still feel like I failed there, too." He raises his eyes to mine again, and the sadness in them breaks through me, dragging me into him. He's stiff in my arms at first, until he falls back onto his butt and crushes me against him, breathing me in as if to mask the scent of his fear.

"She'll be okay," I whisper, biting my lip and fighting to breathe properly. "She's got you. She won't give up."

"But—"

"Edward." I draw back to look at him, sweeping a few hairs back from his wrinkled forehead and sorrowful eyes. The green is dark, drowning in bitter memories and worried futures. "Listen to me. Your mom is sick, that's true. But she's not going to let you come all the way back across the country just to give up once you're here. She'll fight for you, just like anyone who loves you would. You can't give up on the people you love."

He closes his eyes before slowly leaning into me, his breath hot on my collarbone as it stutters. "Can you just… give me a few minutes, please."

My chest aches as I hold him, assuring me that our bond is still in place, spreading from hips to hearts.

-x-

As time passes, things grow less awkward between us. Our edges rounded out, sanded down, until they're smooth and slippery against each other. A quiet kind of comfort fills the spaces between us after that day in his room when he explained about his gardening. Since then, the past two weeks have been easier than almost anything else in my life.

I'd struggled to form my relationships in the past. When I first befriended Kate, in eighth grade, I thought she was insane, so I carried a book around the first few weeks to hide behind. The new girl was a freak. It took me a month to realize I was more like her than I'd have freely admitted, and another few weeks to really gether.

With Lauren, it took us almost a semester to decide we liked each other enough to consider each other actually friends. From there, it sped up—it only took us eighteen days after the semester's end to decide that we'd room together the next year.

But with Edward, I'm falling into this whatever-we-are so rapidly. It's both exhilarating and frightening, for someone who have never grown so close to someone else so quickly or thoroughly. I've gone from knowing nothing about him to completing his sentences.

I yawn as I wait for someone to answer my knock. I've just gotten done with school for the day, and their apartment is actually closer than mine. Plus, I haven't seen more than two hours of Edward since Sunday, and I kind of miss him, if I'm being honest.

Emmett opens their door, dressed in long basketball shorts and a black shirt. "Hey, Ma. Come on in, he's back in his room. Tell him I'm gonna be out for a while, will you? I'm hanging out with some of the guys—time to show off my coaching skills." He winks at me as he grabs his bag from the floor, ruffling my hair when he stands back up. We've become somewhat friends over the past few weeks—albeit, annoying friends.

"Thanks," I say acidly, rolling my eyes as I swat his arm. "Go away, son."

"Original, Ma, very original," he teases as he steps out into the hallway. "Give Edward my love!"

"Shut up," I mumble, closing the door behind his laughing ass.

I sigh and head back through the apartment to Edward's room.

His eyes flicker up to mine as I stand in the doorway, hesitating, and a smile immediately flashes across his face, though he makes no move to get up.

"Hi." I bite my lip nervously, glancing around before walking in to sit at his desk chair.

"Too far," he reprimands, smirking now, spring blooming into deep forest as his eyes darken. I make to get up, think better of it, and drag the chair closer to the bed, propping my foot up on his mattress and tilting onto the back legs of the chair. His fingers twine around my ankle, delicate licks of flame stirring the eternal embers of a wildfire long ago extinguished by time and space. "Good, this is good. Now, what brings the pretty Peach into my den of sin? And why are you wearing shorts when it's freezing outside?"

I laugh, curling my toes and enjoying the tickling pads of his fingers as they absentmindedly stroke sensitive skin. "Den of sin? Cute, Masen, come up with that yourself?"

Edward shrugs, grinning at me, and props his head back on his other hand, looking down at his book again. "Fine, don't tell me. But shut up unless you're going to help me summarize this data on neural and hormonal systems and how they affect learning, perception, and motivation."

I snort quietly, rolling my eyes and watching him. His hair falls forward in front, hanging in front of his eyes, and he keeps pausing to sweep it back. As his fingers brush through it again, my thighs clench slightly. God, I want to replace his hand with mine, to run it through bronze locks of startling softness. Instead, I focus on the tendons in his forearm, the skin-covered veins and bones of his hand as it caress my foot. The iPod on the dock streamed something at a low volume on the desk, satisfying what would have been—still is—a very charged silence.

His scent floods my senses as I sit by his bedside, spicy and a little musky, assaulting my mind with images of our past. From sitting next to him while we took notes on valence electrons to the blackness of my eyelids as he ran his hands up my sides to rid me of my dress, it was all there in his smell. Now small hints of the plants in his room swirl into the mix, heady and earthy and floral, soothing to his exciting.

I close my eyes now, relaxing in the chair and reveling in his presence and the constant stirring in my blood where we're connected. I like this, that I can feel so charged around him, so vivacious and alive. Remembering back to when he first started dancing with me at that party, I recall thinking he was sharing his vibrancy with me, his startling capacity for life, how just being around him woke up everything in me.

His fingers continue to stroke the sensitive skin of my ankle and the top of my foot as my thoughts quiet, the only sounds in the room our breathing, the turning of pages in his textbook, and the slight noise his highlighter makes scraping across the words. Warm and comfortable, I allow myself to remember the dream I'd had the night Lauren brought him back home.

-x-

"Peach?"

"Hmmm?" I yawn, my eyelids fluttering open slowly.

He's still on the bed, but he's sitting up now, his book pushed aside and my foot in his lap. The lighting in the room is different, more orangey-pink instead of weak yellow—the sun is setting. The smirk on his face instantly wakes me up, and I smile sheepishly as I straighten. "Geez, I'm sorry. How long was I out for? Was I snoring, or talking, or whistling? I didn't mean to disturb you…"

My smile widens at the sound of his enthusiastic laughter, as if the sound controls the quirk of my lips, as if his reactions dictate mine.

"No, not at all. You're quiet as a freight train barreling along at full speed on rickety rails." I kick out with my foot, hitting his hipbone, and he continues chuckling. "Fine, fine, I'm kidding. I didn't even notice you'd fallen asleep until I tried asking you if you wanted anything to drink."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I answer, rubbing my eyes with my fists and slouching in the chair again. "I can't believe I fell asleep. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's my fault for being as interesting as painting primer."

"Painting primer isn't uninteresting," I counter, another yawn tearing through me. He doesn't need to know he's the most interesting thing in my life—or, at least, what I feel for and with him is.

Edward laughs again. "Bullshit."

Grinning, I shrug. "I don't mind. I didn't want to disturb you anyway, just… I haven't seen you for a few days, so I figured I'd drop by. And then you made me sit down and I guess I was just exhausted."

"It's fine, Peach, don't even worry about it. I really don't mind in the least. You're pretty when you sleep."

I glance up at him to see his eyes seeking mine, and swallow harshly at the emotions whirling in the depths of his gaze. It amazes me sometimes, looking at him like this, because his eyes aren't just green. They're gray- and blue- and golden-green, as if an artist accidentally dropped his palette and the colors had swirled together as a result of the chaos, startling and beautiful.

Everything beautiful begins in chaos.

Look at us. We're living proof.

"Sure. I'm gorgeous no matter what I'm doing—rolling in mud, going to the bathroom, slathering calamine lotion all over my bug bites…"

He shakes his head, grinning. "I'm not gonna lie—maybe not then. But you're relaxed when you sleep, and I like knowing that you trust me enough to let your guard down around me."

Blood boils under my skin, rising to my cheeks, and I hastily look away. "Yeah, well, I know your full name so I'm sure you wouldn't be stupid enough to take advantage of me like that," I say awkwardly, flinching away from the real issue—trust.

Do I trust him? Sure, I trust him to give me a lift should I need one, or to teach me about electrons and chemistry and electricity, or, hell, to make me forget everything but us just by brushing against me.

But that's all physical. That's the easy part. You can give someone your body, but it's so much harder to give them your mind and your soul, let alone a vulnerable heart.

He narrows his gaze at me, eyelashes dangerous as they lower like shiny dark needles, but doesn't respond. We sit quietly for a moment before I sigh and nudge him with my foot again. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm just… still trying to figure everything out."

"There's nothing to figure out, Peach." His tone is just a smidge harsher than I'm used to, and I frown. He sets my foot aside and stands, stretching nonchalantly and running a hand through his flattened hair.

His shaking fingertips give him away.

"Fine, let's keep burying that conversation and putting it off. But I'm warning you now that we won't go any further without talking about what happened," I snap, rising out of my own chair. The front legs let out a muffled thump as they land on his carpet. "I can't go any further."

His hand closes around my elbow as I attempt to brush past him, and anger licks up my spine, bursting into flame as it reaches the tender kindling most often referred to as the heart. I try to yank my arm away, but he pulls me close, crushing me against him, and my body automatically, traitorously, melts into his, my arms twining around him so that my fists can grab handfuls of his shirt. When he breathes in, I move with him; his air is mine, filled with fear and anxiety and something deeper than either of those.

"Look, we'll talk, I promise, but… not now, okay? I still need to figure out what happened."

"We both do, and I think talking about it together might make more sense of it, so we're not suffocating on our own or trying to wade through tar."

"I get that, I d—Did you just compare all of this to tar?" he asks, drawing back to look at me quizzically.

"It's sticky," I mutter, biting back my embarrassed grin.

He bursts out laughing, and the tension breaks as his lower register harmonizes with my higher. His embrace becomes less of a constraint and more of a leisure, both of us relaxing again. His arms circle my waist, long fingers slipping into the belt loops of my shorts, pressing and holding me to his hips until our bodies are flushed and aligned. "Hungry? I haven't eaten since before my second class, and I'm starving."

"Do you even have any food in your refrigerator?" I mock. "Last I looked, there was moldy cheese and a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose."

"It's almost entirely empty now, thank you," he sniffs. "But I was asking if you wanted to go out."

"You need to work on your word choice," I teases, though my heart is doing the pitter-patter-stomp. "But yeah, that'd be great."

"Want a jacket?" he asks, drawing back to look down at my hot-weather clothing. "It's raining again."

His fingers softly stroke against the side of my hip, slipping under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up just slightly to brush against my skin. Heat radiates from the point of contact, and I swallow harshly. "Er… what?"

"Do you want a jacket?" he repeats, chuckling.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great," I finally answer, snapping out of the skin-to-skin coma I so often slip into in his presence. "Do you mind?"

"I wouldn't offer if I did."

"You might," I argue, shrugging. His hands fall from my hips, and I fight back the deep frown marring my face. Wait! I take it back! You wouldn't! Just put your damn hands back on me!

"Does it matter what color jacket it is?" He steps toward his closet, cracking it open as if he doesn't want me seeing inside. It's not like his room isn't messy enough to have my skin crawling, if I was the type to be bothered by that sort of thing.

"No." I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"The kind to wear thigh-highs," he responds immediately, and thumps his head on the closet door slowly, as if punishing himself for being honest with me.

I snort. "No talking about it right now, remember? Keep the thigh-highs to yourself—I hope they bring you much pain."

"You're evil. You always have been," he mutters as he tosses a gray jacket toward me, following it with a purple scarf I recognize from my own closet. "You left that here last time, evil one."

"No, no, you're Evil One. I'm Evil Two, or too, depending. Get it straight, Edward."

"Shut up," he grumbles, his teeth flashing at me harmlessly before he pulls on a black leather jacket with a hood. "Ready?"

"Yeah, like you said—starving. I'm always hungry when I wake up."

"I'll keep that in mind—useful information, that is, for the future and all."

"You planning to be around when I wake up next time, Masen?"

He's quiet for a moment, and I want to close his dresser drawer on my head. I'm so queen of awkward. I recall the way I'd brought up the other girls as we were driving to his house the night of the party, and the way everything had fallen apart briefly then as it's doing now.

"Yeah. I think I am."

My heart stutters and I glance up at him, hopeful and equally scared, postponing my inner pity-party. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. I can only take so much of Maryland before I want to shoot someone." Despite his words, the intensity in his eyes causes my stomach to clench, and I offer him a timid smile.

"Good. Now can we please go eat?"

"God, you're impatient." As he lets us out of his apartment, his ears are slightly pink from his statements, and his hand seeks mine, our fingers twisting together like a Twizzler, sweet and firm and just a wee bit sticky. "Come on, I know just the place."

"How's school?" I ask, my hip bumping into his as I walk. He hasn't yet complained about it, but whenever we walk together I have a habit of stepping too close and connecting some part of me with him, whether it's my hand brushing his or the fabric of our jeans scratching together.

"I hate my lectures on Thursdays, but it's fine other than that. The professor apparently doesn't quite understand his topic, so it gets a little confusing." He leads us to the stairwell, pulling the door open for me and continuing down the stairs as he talks. "Then there's this girl who sits behind me, and I swear to God, she's flaying my clothes off my body in her mind. It's so discomforting. This whole goddamn world is full of pervs, isn't it?"

I think about Lauren, agree silently, and then chide myself, recalling my own thoughts where Edward's concerned. "Yes, yes it is."

He sighs heavily, a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. God, I want to kiss him. It's been too long. "I don't suppose you have any ideas for getting all of them away from me?"

"Only the soft-core ones."

"Share anyway," he pleads, grinning up at me from the step below. The gray concrete behind him sets a contrast between his light eyes and dark hair.

"Get off the market," I suggest, smiling slightly. "They'll go cry in a corner. But like I said, the hardcore ones may continue to watch anyway."

"Me, off the market?" he gasps. "I'm scandalized! How could you suggest such a thing, Peach?"

I roll my eyes, pushing against his back lightly. "Keep walking, Masen."

He doesn't move, turning to face me instead. "You know, I don't think I will. I'm curious about this idea of yours, this absurd 'off the market' thing. I may have jumped the gun on my reaction. Tell me more."

I laugh, my skin bursting with sudden pink blooms under the touch of his eyes. "Over dinner?"

"No, now," he says, and steps closer, until we're on level, inches separating us. The comfort and awkwardness has disappeared, filling the space with enough energy to run a steam-powered electric plant. "I'm very interested in what you might have to say, Peach, absolutely riveted to hear what's spinning around in that head of yours."

Swallowing, I bite my lip and shrug. "I was just suggesting that the girls who stare at you all the time wanting to lick you would probably be heartbroken and put off if you were… you know… if you looked like you were serious with someone. They'd all go… cry in a corner if you were taken. Or something. And, the hardcore ones, they'll probably like watching you and… your… girlfriend or whatever…"

"You're awkward about this," he observes, squeezing my hand just slightly. If I could ever somehow forget he was touching me, I would have been shocked by this. But, as always, I'm all too aware of him. I haven't forgotten. It still doesn't fail to send a zinging shock through my central nervous system. I worry briefly that hanging out with him will make me brain dead as the routers in my nerves explode.

"I am not," I argue feebly. "It's just a weird topic, that's all. We're discussing the pervs who fuck you with their entirely too forward eyes."

"No, we're not. At least, I'm not. I was under the impression we were talking about me being on the market, actually," he disagrees. His voice is low, rougher than usual, and the green is forest black; my heart starts hop-scotching irregularly in response.

"Oh," I mumble pathetically.

"Oh? That's it? What's your opinion on the matter?" he asks, stepping onto my step until we're pressed flush against each other. I back up to lean against the wall, overwhelmed, and he follows, his heat scalding and his body as firm as his voice.

"I…"

He lifts his free hand and pulls my lip from my teeth. "Stop it. Only I get to abuse your poor lip like that," he murmurs, and then fire descends on me, scalding me to the core as his soft mouth lowers to mine.

I can't recall the feeling of my first kiss with him. I'd been buzzed, and it hadn't seemed like such a big deal. It had been before we had sex, so I wasn't even aware of our potential energy—all I knew was that he was a very cute boy, a superb dancer, and we were attracted to each other.

But now, now I can feel it racing through me, setting my heart to a thundering that tears through my body. His lips are soft, if a little dry, and I don't care because it's only the pressure—the pressure of his mouth on mine, of his hands moving to my hips, of his hips pressing me back against the cold cement. The pressure pushes us together, into one, and I want to be that, to be one, to be his and for him to be mine.

"Off the market," I gasp, breaking away for just a moment. "You should definitely be off the market."

"Yeah?" he breathes. "Wanna help me with that?"

"If you kiss me like this all the time, then yeah, I'm definitely up for it," I answer, pulling him back into me by his jacket. The leather is warm in my hands, and I am warm in his.

"Peach," he murmurs, dragging his lips down my neck to speak against my collarbone. The vibrations from his voice travel through the marrow, into my neurons, spreading until they're pulsing through my bloodstream. My heart stutters in rhythm. "Dinner?"

"Now?" I'm ashamed to note my question echoed through the stairwell in a suspiciously whiny tone.

His laughter against my skin sends shudders spreading down my spine. "We need energy, don't we?"

"Do we?" I question breathlessly.

"We're in public anyway," he reminds me, gently disengaging himself, pulling his leg from between mine and letting his grip on my waist loosen. He drops a soft kiss against the skin of my neck, and I sigh.

"I guess you're right. But can we hurry?"

"Can you keep up, Peach?"

I level my gaze on him and have the pleasure of feeling his breath stutter where his chest is still pressed against mine. "Please," I snort. "I'll lead."

The small place where we eat is just across the street, a Mexican food restaurant with quick service and decent food. The salsa must influence our conversation, because it's ripe with innuendos and neither of us allows the other to settle down for even a moment. I shrug out of my borrowed jacket three minutes after we settle into our booth, Edward following my example not two minutes later. The words are low and sensual as they flow between us, until finally we're running across the street, pinkies linked and laughing as we dodge traffic, peppermint melting sweetly on our tongues.

Edward leads the way into his apartment, his hand fumbling with the key until we burst into the dark living room. I drop my purse and our jackets to the floor, toe off my shoes, and turn to launch myself at him.

I don't care that we haven't discussed our past; the knowledge of our future blots everything else out, including my earlier claim that we'd not be moving forward. I was insane for thinking that, anyway. I never have a hope for control where he's concerned.

His hands sweeps against the flesh of my waist before grasping me and walking me backwards to slam against a wall, his lips already sucking on mine, his knee pressing between my legs as they willingly part. My nails scratch down his neck, over his t-shirt, until they curled around the bottom, yanking it up. He pulls back, breaking away to toss it over his head before his hands are back on me, one at my breast, the other dipping to fumble at the top button on the side of my shorts.

"Bella," he gasps, his breath hot against my cheek. "Peach, I need you to get my belt. Now."

Air rushes through my lips in a restrained moan, my hands dropping to his belt buckle faster than a shooting star clears the sky. I don't want this opportunity to disappear. I want to wish on it forever, wish for it forever.

The metal is cool, such a contrast to the heated skin my fingers brush against as I struggle to get it off, out of our way. His abdominal muscles clench in anticipation at the brief contact, and my head rolls back.

"Shirt, off," I groan, my eyes squinting against the bright excitement that's blinding them.

The side effects of our bonding seem to include flashes of light, heat, motion… and something like a black hole, pulling us toward each other, shifting gravity and sucking us into a vortex where only I and he and we exist. A supernova, caused by a simple chemical reaction, a miniscule shift in the universe.

The hand at my shorts lifts to the edge of my shirt, and I abandon my attempts at his belt buckle momentarily, letting him drag the fabric over my head, between us, for just a second. As soon as it's past my elbows, I rush to throw it away, arching into him as his mouth attaches to my collarbone, blood rushing to the surface under his affections.

"Belt," he reminds me, his voice guttural and rushed, nothing like the silk I'm so accustomed to.

Finally, finally, my fumbling fingers finish at the clasp, grabbing the leather and tugging, his hips slamming into rough contact with my own. The noises falling from our mouths are eerily similar, full of wanton lust and the overwhelming urge to lose ourselves in each other, to be together.

"Hurry," he whispers, dragging his teeth lightly over my skin and following with a flat tongue. My eyes roll back as I slump against the wall for the shortest second, my hands jerking him into me again. By this point I'm not sure if they're still struggling to rid him of the belt or if they're using it as a way to grind his hips into mine.

I drop it as soon as it's free of the last belt loop, immediately dipping my fingers under the waistline of his jeans, dragging them from hip to hip as I turn my head to kiss his temple. He lifts his face to mine, pulling my hips forward and sliding his hands behind me to unclasp my bra, the straps sliding down my arms under their own power. I let the garment fall off before trailing my hands back up his arms to his shoulders, using them and the wall as leverage to sling both of my legs around his hips.

Edward's hands find purchase on my ass as he stumbles away from the support of the wall, guiding us clumsily down the hallway. The wood of his bedroom door is cool and hard against my back as he leans us into it, panting into my throat.

"Can you get the door handle, Peach?"

"Too busy groping my ass to get it yourself?" I ask breathlessly, reaching behind me for the door knob and twisting.

"You know me," he answers throatily, punctuating with a nip at my collarbone. "I love your ass."

We almost fall through the doorway in our eagerness before I'm against a wall again, my hands tangled in his hair, my lips moving against his, feeling him grinding against me through two layers of denim.

"If you love it so much," I struggle for air, inhaling what he exhales, "why is it still covered by clothes?"

"Your buttons are fucking ridiculous," he complains, hips working into mine despite the obstacles. "Why the fuck are they on the side?"

I don't bother responding, but instead use my hands to hold his head against me. His hair is slightly damp now, his chest rising and falling as he gasps.

"Bella, God, this is… this feels… holy shit."

"Yeah," I moan. "Fuck, I know, believe me."

"It's not just… physical."

Something in his voice reaches the part of my brain drowning in the emotional level of this encounter, and I softly kiss his jaw, slowing my responses to him. "I know that too," I whisper. "It's more."

His hands slide up to my ribs and I shiver against him, longing and fear and desire rippling through me. "More," he repeats, softly, meeting my eyes. "Much more."

The raging fire dulls to a warm smolder as he kisses me, soft but oh so passionate.

"I need to feel you," he murmurs, lips moving against mine. "Can you get your own shorts?"

He helps me slide down his body to stand, his hands gentle on my hips. I make short work of the side-buttons, dropping my shorts and glancing at him to see his progress.

Lust sparks through me as I lay eyes on him, jeans and boxer-briefs pooled on the floor at his feet as he straightens up again, his hungry gaze sweeping over my body.

I bite my lip as he steps forward again, his rough fingers looping through my panties and shoving them down before he presses up against me, our bodies aligning in familiar ways, hands finding purchase.

"Fuck," he groans, looking toward his bedside table and making to move away. "Condom."

"Birth control," I retort, squeezing his hip as he meets my eyes again. "It's fine. I want you like this. You're clean?"

"Peach, god, yes." Edward swallows, taking a moment to lift me up and brace me against the wall. "This won't be soft."

"You better not be soft," I whisper. "I'd probably cry if you were."

His laughter shakes us both, and I grin at him, my smile turning into an open-mouthed gasp as he fills me.

Nothing has changed between us, physically, in the past three years. We still react to each other in the same way, so aware of one another, so all-encompassed by the electricity that snap-crackle-pops between us. The only difference between now and then is that we know exactly what we're getting into, know to expect the swirling typhoon we'll be lost in. There won't be any running from it, because we've accepted its inevitability. Whatever this is, whatever it turns us into, is too omnipotent to escape.

Our bodies melt to fill the gaps and spaces between us, soft sounds coaxing the flame to higher temperatures. I know my back will probably bruise from the wall behind me, but at the moment I don't feel it—I'm focused entirely on the pull and return of our hips as they partake in a give-and-take older than the first single molecule of this world. The black hole has swallowed us entirely, dragging a veil over everything that isn't each other. We're trapped in heat and sound and slick skin and grasping fingers and probing mouths; everything else ceases to exist.

My name drops to brush against my heart every time it escapes his lips against mine, tethering me to him, tightening the bond and pulling me further into him, faster, deeper. When the stars burst into light again, the black hole withdrawing for a single millisecond, I lose it, forcing everything into his name.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, and he leans forward to support my slumping body, his hips pressing close and tight and fast, the fingers gripping my waist and thigh digging in deeply. "Bella… Peach… I can't… holy shit…"

I stare into his eyes, willing him to fall, assuring him that I'll be there to catch him. "Edward," I whisper, my arms tightening around his shoulders. "I'm here, right here."

"I can't help this… fuck… Bella, it's never…"

"Been like this," I gasp as he arches into me again. "I know."

"Not since… you and I… before."

The need to kiss him rolls over me, dragging me out to sea as I press my lips to his, grounding him as he crests.

"I know," I soothe, panting, my arms tight around his shoulders as my body loses the effort to support itself, hands softly brushing through his hair.

His breathing slows against my neck, warm and pungent, his fingers loosening their grip as he becomes something gentler, sweeter, his body joining mine in the satisfying fragility of afterglow. "Hang on, Peach," he murmurs as he adjusts his grip.

I squeeze him with what little muscle control I have left as he stumbles back from the wall, happily spent, to set me on the edge of his bed. I crawl to the headboard and slide back the covers, watching him through tired eyes as he crosses the room again to his dresser and begins pulling out clothes. In between one flutter of my tired eyelids and the next, he's back, slipping in beside me, turning on his side to face me. The blazing wildfire in his eyes has dulled to embers, affectionate and pleasant, as he reaches down to pull a pair of his boxers up my legs. The tender movement gives me reason to pause for a moment before I roll toward him.

Edward's leg slips between mine, and I move forward to press my face against the nook where his neck meets his shoulder, tucking my head under his chin and breathing in his unfiltered scent as my eyelashes flutter against his skin. His arms circle around me as we turn until I'm lying half-on his body, our legs entwined, my hair fanned out across my sticky back and part of his chest.

"Edward?" I whisper, my eyes closed as sleep sprinkles its influence over my body.

His chest rumbles with the humming noise that is his response.

I hesitate, unsure of what I had meant to say, and he squeezes me once, a silent urge to continue. "Just… never mind. I think you already know," I whisper, my muscles relaxing into him.

-x-

AN

-x-

I don't plan on there being more Peachward, but, hey, the kid may just knock me flat one day.

Thank you, as ever, to my pretty bb's:

IcelandGirl812, because she's funny, pervy, and she likes to stroke my ego when she prereads for Peachward. Also, because she reminded me of the term 'nook,' which I forgot fourteen fucking times while writing this. I was calling it niche, crook, ect for ages. Also, she puts him in a locker room with her Shopward and steals their clothes and then tweets at me about it until my blue eyes go green with jealousy.

As for cocomama101… well, she's always been supportive of me, even around her own writing time for Breathe. And she takes good care of Peachward when she gets him. Her life has been hectic as of late, and the lady still loves me enough to mail me a birthday card from all the way across the fucking Pacific Ocean. She calls me sweet, but she's giving me cavities herself. I'm so happy I said yes when she asked me to beta for her.

The (Many) Songs to Inspire Lemonward:

'Captivated' by Lady Gaga. Yes, a Gaga song, but don't be quick to deem it a poppy, stuttering hit. Piano and powerful voice, bbs, that's what this is.

'Neutron Star Collision' by Muse only makes sense, what with how much this story had to do with chemistry and the elements of individual atoms and their bonds. Plus, I love Muse, even when they make a song purely for a movie. *lifts eyebrow*

'Dreaming of You' by The Coral was also, oddly, a bit inspirational this time, the first verse especially so. The type of music isn't usually what I'd go for with a story, but for some reason it fit.

'Something Beautiful' by Need to Breathe fit very well with my characters this time. They are beautiful, as is the song. Quite honestly, it could be the song of the story. Take a listen to the lyrics, and you'll see exactly what I mean. It's so dead-on that it almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized how perfect it was.

'War in Your Bedroom' by A Change of Pace, please to be the sexing song for this time around.. IcelandGirl812 sprung it on me in a tweet and I had one of those torturous instant hot flashes. Peachward demanded he get a chance to claim Peachella to it. I had no desire to turn him down. It fueled, like, two hours of writing, on nonstop repeat.