Author's Note: I know this is a very rare pairing, but that's exactly why I'm writing it. I never read a Seth/Paul pairing before, and I like being different. This is my very first Twilight story where they will all be humans; my others are a bit more based upon the storyline, although none are really canon, but whatever! Anyways,

Summary: Whoever Paul thought he was, changed instantly, for when the boy smiled did his heart soar to the sun; an unexplainable desire, and an unexplainable conflict, but all love grows from the unexplained, from the incomprehensible. The embrace of his heart so tight it suffocated him in all the right ways. His lover, his world- Seth Meraz was his soul-guided purpose for existing. He was convinced of it.

Warnings: I'm not going to tell you. Let it be a surprise. Hehe! ^_^

Disclaimer: I own nothing Twilight related, only this story and the others! ;)

*Ah yes, and the entire story will be in Seth's point of view, despite the evocations of the summary. YES! Every single chapter will be in Seth's POV, no one else's. If I wanted to talk about someone else I would've put it in third person, seeing as if I won't, then it is entirely Seth's story.

But Read, relax, and enjoy. (RRE) I hope I didn't come off as too hostile just then, haha! But please do, SRE (sit back, relax, and enjoy)! ;D

And I'd like to extend a HUGE THANK YOU! to my awesome beta. ^_^ You're awesome...and you know this. ;D Thank you so very much!

Prologue

- May 12th, 2020. Spring.

11:32am

The clock standing on the nightstand read: 11:32 am. The midday sun was splendidly flourishing the contents of our room, everything glowing warmly under the golden banners of sunlight that streamed in through the window. I turned in my computer chair and felt my lips tug up into a smile as the soft breeze caressed my warmed cheeks.

I again swiveled in my chair, spinning a full 360 before stopping on the balls of my toes, my smile broadening as I relished in the moment. Everything was perfect. So perfect, and sometimes, I wondered how that was ― not that life was everreally hard for me, albeit it could be torturous at times, but nothing that I couldn't I knew for a fact that life had never been this perfect before. I had a huge house, a decent car, and no kids (thank God). And I had a husband that was, for lack of better phrasing, just about my entire universe.

I kicked my bare feet against the smooth mahogany floorboard, twisting the chair so that I faced the bed, and inevitably, involuntarily, my faint smile morphed into a mischeivous grin. The bed was an utter disaster- the sheets and pillows were compiled haphazardly atop it; half of the comforter was drawn back, spilling messily onto the floor; the bottom sheet was peeled away, revealing the naked mattress. I couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled past my lips, knowing exactly why it looked like such a compacted heap of a mess. 'Oops.'

Paul was never a sound sleeper. He tended to be quite wild between the sheets ― in more ways than one. Again, I couldn't help but giggle at the thought. On very numerous occasions, he'd wake me up with either his ridiculous snoring, or his uncontrollable thrashing. But I never minded ― or so I told myself. Truth be told, it did get annoying, but Paul was Paul, and to have him I had to accept all of him.

God knows I had to learn that the hard way.

I suddenly felt my eyelids become heavier, my eyes downcast at the unwelcome memory. But quickly, before it could pull me down, I sighed a demure sigh, vanquishing all qualms. What was done was done. I'd looked past it. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Paul had made his mistakes, yes, but I couldn't hold him to them after so long. It wouldn't be fair.

All of this thinking about Paul finally brought my attention back to the laptop sitting in front of me, casting scarcely visible blue light from the screen over my face as I turned back to it. I had to write, which was a mystery to me, considering the fact that I was a gymnast, not a writer. Damned English classes!

Paul was always fond of my writing, and pressured me time and time again to write an autobiography, whether it be only for his eyes to read or the world's. For the past three years he'd been pestering me about it, but yesterday. God, yesterday, he'd been so determined, so damn persuasive, that I'd finally gave in and promised I'd begin writing it. I'd run out of my lousy excuses.

I shrugged.

His persistence was quaint, though. In those three years, he had never been more eager for me to ― at the very least ― start writing it, than he'd been yesterday. And once I started writing, I could never stop. He knew that, which led me to believe that he was up to something as he tried to keep me busy, but hell if I knew what it was. Knowing him, it'd probably be something stupid.

I scoffed lightly and shook my head, smiling at the vivid image of him racing to the park early in the morning and pushing kids to the ground so he could be the first one to slide down the slide, and then arguing or literally fighting with the kid's parents afterwards. I laughed out loud. Paul always had a temper (and was always quick to show it), but I was the exception of that rage.

I felt my chest tighten. Another memory fulfilling its purpose of tormenting me, another memory I'd rather not own. I could feel the frown settle upon my face, my vision blurring slightly when my eyes fell again, lashes fluttering in front of me. I wasn't always the exception of that rage, I remembered. I swallowed a thick lump in my throat.

Quickly, automatically, I grabbed my thighs with both my hands and squeezed them gently before rubbing them soothingly back and forth, seemingly rubbing away my troubled feelings. It was a habit. It always seemed to ― at the most ― scarcely solace my qualms, but it was enough for me to recollect myself.

That was another memory in the past, nothing to dwell on, and my eyes lit up again with determination, staring profusely at the screen of my laptop beneath furrowed brows. 'A damn autobiography.' I thought bitterly. 'What am I going to do with this?'

"Ah! Shit!" I turned swiftly, slightly alarmed by the clamor resounding throughout the house, the yells bouncing off shiny, new walls. It was Paul, and I could always tell by the exasperation of that specific obscenity whenever he used it ― every time. "That's fuckin' hot!"

Silently, I wondered what it was he was doing. 'Is he playing with the oven again?' I shook my head, smiling as I reminisced on his prior failure(s) toiling with the oven. 'Jackass.' I snickered.

Paul had to be solemnly contriving something in that head of his; I could practically feel it. All the clues were there: He'd: a.) crawled out of bed before I had (which is very seldom); b.) told me I was not, under any circumstances, to come downstairs; and c.) asked me if I were stupid.

Now, I was convinced by the third clue that he was concocting some evil scheme. I was the smart one in this relationship (and he didn't fail to tell everyone just how smart I was), and then he had the audacity to ask me if I was stupid.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Paul yelled malice. I, again, snickered. 'Ha! That's what you get. Call me stupid, huh? Revenge! Revenge, I say!' Then I heard a metallic ringing reverberate as if he'd kicked something in his enragement.

"Jack… ass," I said aloud to myself and rolled my eyes.

I sighed again, figuring I had procrastinated enough for the morning. I twisted in my chair and pulled myself up to the desk by the edge of the smooth wooden corner. Tentatively, I grazed the pad of my fingers over the keys of the contraption. I had no idea how to begin, where to begin, but I hoped that once I commenced, I would gather a tone and take off from there as I'd always been able to do.

…

… …

… … …

I let out another frustrated huff. Dammit. It was difficult writing an autobiography when all I could think about was him. I smiled to myself, remembering how much of an ass he was to me in high school ― well, not so much as it was him as it was his dumb jockey friends.

Huh. Now that I thought about, I didn't know why Paul had changed. I really didn't. I deliberated on the thought for a while before finally typing the question at the head of the page.

"Why did you change?" I recited aloud as my fingers ran over the correct keys. I stared at the screen, rereading the question several times before slouching back into my chair, contemplating over the inquiry.

'What happened to make him change?' I asked myself, surprised that I'd never asked him in the ten years we'd been together. After a moment of deliberation, I sat up straight, and glared at the blank page of my document, determination swelling in my gut.

"Well, I figure the only way to find out is to start at the beginning." I erased the inquiry from the head of the page and opted to use it as the first line, tapping the centre button to move it to the middle of the page. 'I guess I'll start off talking about me.'

"I go by Seth Meraz," I typed, "and this story revolves around the trials of tribulations I've faced through my high school years being an openly gay male teenager." I paused, rereading the line. It was fine. "This is my story. This is the story that jump-started the beginning of my now perfect life, with my loving, dedicated, and patient ―"

"Ahh!" Paul shouted, enraged. "I will fucking kill you!"

Okay, so perhaps patient wasn't the word. ERASE.

"…temperamental," I corrected, "husband, Paul Meraz. It all began ten years ago, in my sophomore year, and in his senior year. This is a sort of love story between a gymnast and one of the school's star football players. I was the gymnast, obviously. But at the time, said gymnast, was better known as Seth Clearwater, brother to Leah Clearwater (now Leah Black), and son of Harry and Sue Clearwater. Ten years ago ―"

I stopped, smiling, wondering if I should use an endearing obscenity to make my statement more dynamic, or if I should just keep it clean. I decided to keep things civil for now, and continued on with, " ― my life was… confusing (to say the least), but only when Paul jumped head-first into it, shaking it up." I paused again, striving to repress unwanted memories.

"It all started on November 16th ― dreary autumn weather at Angelus Community High School of Performing Arts (ACHSA). Little did I know, returning to school that semester would trigger the release of a hurricane of havoc, an unpredictable love caught in the eye of the storm…"

^_^ Prologue completed! This is my first EVER story written in first person. I'm a little apprehensive about the outcome. But…whatever.

Anyhow, enough with worries; even though this is my first endeavor at writing a first person story, I can guarantee that this story will not disappoint. I'll get the hang of it, and once I do, you'll be in for a handful! ;)

Again, I just want to sincerely thank the awesome-ist beta EVER! He's freakin' sweeeet! And I know with his awestastic (not a real word) editing abilities, this story will surely not disappoint and will be freakin' wrapped in awesomeness! Because we are awesome! Ahaha! ^_^

Well tell me what you think?