So Jasper removed his wet jacket and moved closer to Edward’s bed, growing more and more miserable with every second that Edward completely disregarded his presence. Jasper pulled back the blankets and slid underneath, dampening the sheets with his soaked denim and dripping hair.
Edward was so motionless that Jasper thought him much like a statue. Except that he wasn’t. Statues stood tall, they didn’t lay curled around white bedsheets, despondent and limp. When Jasper was close enough, he lay his head upon the pillow, placing his eyes directly in Edward’s line of vacant vision. There was only a slight spark of recognition in Edward’s green eyes, but it was enough for Jasper to feel relief.
But then Edward whimpered.
It was a soft, anguished sound that pierced the depths of Jasper’s soul. And he couldn’t restrain his arms from seeking Edward’s body and encasing them in what little comfort Jasper had left to give. Edward did not return the embrace at first, but Jasper smelled his hair and smoothed it back, hooked his wet leg around Edward’s calf, the way he always had.
Jasper had never been the strong one. All he could do was hold Edward’s prostrate body until he felt his arms respond, one draping itself weakly over Jasper’s side. It was only an echo of what he knew they once shared. It was dark and miserable and painful in ways that Jasper couldn’t possibly enjoy. Even though he finally held Edward in his arms, it was, in many ways, tainted with despair.
As was their sleep.
—
They must have slept for hours upon hours, if not days. Jasper could sense Edward in the depths of his seemingly neverending slumber, could reach him and touch him and cradle his head in his hands. He could also, almost instinctively, feel the sun’s set and rise as he dozed contentedly.
Jasper seemed to awake to a weight in his chest that puzzled him. He squinted his eyes and wondered what the hell was fucking with his hair, something seeming to flutter through his tresses in a darkly, achingly familiar way. Jasper hadn’t had anyone touch his hair since…
He opened his eyes to bare skin and a waistband, a little trail of coppery hair disappearing beneath it. Jasper’s head rose and fell with Edward’s breaths, his skin exploding into a current of electric gooseflesh with every pass that was made against his scalp. Edward’s fingers. Jasper knew they were Edward’s fingers. He must have, even in his dreams, because the weight that filled his chest was something that Jasper hadn’t felt in so long.
Jasper sighed, his arm wedged uncomfortably against Edward’s side. He was afraid to speak, terrified to spook the moment and watch it flutter away and dissipate into nothingness.
Edward’s voice was gravelly and weak. “I guess everyone knows.” His fingers, his smooth, long, gentle fingers, never ceased in their tender caresses.
Jasper suppressed a shiver. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and was surprised to hear the utter sincerity of his voice.
Somewhere behind Jasper’s head, Edward shrugged. “So am I.”
When the deep chasm of silence fell upon them, neither abandoned their position. Jasper’s eyes remained saucer-wide and stared fixedly at the patch of hair before him. He’d always imagined it, had seen the beginnings of its growth, but had never had the opportunity to view it matured. He memorized the way each hair curled against Edward’s belly, scattering outward into nothing but pale flesh.
“Jasper,” Edward eventually called, his fingers faltering. “Can I ask you a question?”
Jasper was unnerved by the slowing of Edward’s caresses and the frailty of his voice. “Okay,” he resigned with more than a little wariness. He was incapable of denying him.
Edward’s voice was dreadfully knowing as he asked, “Why did you change your hair?” And then, as if to punctuate his own suspicions, Edward grasped at a thick lock and twirled it around his forefinger.
Jasper wasn’t sure what to say or how to answer him. He’d changed his hair months prior, had seen no visible evidence that Edward had even noticed. Swallowing nervously, Jasper coldly declared, “You really don’t want to know,” and prepared himself for Edward’s ultimate rejection and callousness.
“I do,” Edward insisted.
Jasper released a long sigh and began to turn his head. He realized that this was likely the last moment he and Edward would share with such scarce proximity. The pit of his stomach hardened and tensed in preparation.
Jasper looked Edward in his bloodshot eyes, propped on his elbows and stoic. He wasn’t ready before, but this time… Jasper knew exactly what to expect.
“You prefer brunettes.”
—
Jasper was back in his bedroom. He and Edward had slept for so long that he was no longer tired. He’d left Edward’s bedroom that morning confused, hopeful, pissed off, and some how more confused.
Upon Jasper’s confession, Edward hadn’t kicked him out. Then again, he hadn’t stayed in bed, either. Looking rather awkward and still just as empty as he had the previous day, Edward had excused himself, citing that he’d desperately needed a shower.
Jasper was uncertain what to make of his lack of reaction. He worried that maybe he’d been more transparent all this time than he’d known. Then again, Jasper had never been able to hide from Edward. He wasn’t surprised that Edward had likely known the truth all along.
Which was why Jasper now lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and fantasizing, hoping. This was what pissed him off. Jasper didn’t want to get his hopes up just to watch them crash and burn. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from envisioning that trail of hair or Edward’s green eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from recalling the way Edward’s bed had smelled—more like man than boy.
Jasper’s mind kept stampeding between thoughts, first tender, and then violent, lascivious, longing, giddy, despondent, before finally continuing the circuit with no resolution. That was, until he heard a slight rapping on his bedroom door.
Jasper’s eyes snapped to the source of the sound just as Edward’s head peeked through, hand grasping the knob. Edward appeared rather uncertain as he stepped into the room, explaining, “Can’t sleep.”
Jasper swiftly sat up, scooting his back flush to his headboard and quickly running his fingers through his dark hair. He was caught off guard and knew that he must have looked like shit. “Me either,” Jasper hurriedly agreed, eyes darting to the space at his side.
Without the necessity of Jasper’s gawky request, Edward gracefully traveled to the bed, the mattress shifting once his weight was settled.
Edward’s lips were set into a hard scowl. “I fucking hate him,” he declared, eyes crinkling around the edges. Jasper didn’t need to ask him to elaborate. Edward ranted, “Jacob Black. He’s a complete moron. Has no tact, whatsoever. He’s rude and smells like a dog.”
At this, Jasper’s lips pulled up into a bitter smile. For all the hilarity of Edward’s slight, Jasper knew what fueled it. “I think Bella’s the moron,” he corrected, a little more harshly than intended.
Edward winced minutely at the mention of her name, shoulders folding inward protectively. “I can’t hate Bella,” he admitted, suddenly weary as his chin dropped.
Jasper resented his voice for consoling, “It probably didn’t mean anything.” He instantly wondered why he was defending Bella of all people. He should have been playing on Edward’s vulnerability and demonizing her further, but he simply couldn’t stand to see Edward so broken.
Edward snorted, nose wrinkling weakly. “But… don’t kisses always mean something? They’re so… intimate.” He looked to Jasper, a plea in his stare that Jasper couldn’t possibly fulfill.
“I wouldn’t know,” Jasper replied, a little embarrassed at his inexperience. He couldn’t have eased Edward’s mind even if he had known, incapable of judging the relationship between Bella and this Jacob Black.
Edward, suddenly curious, quirked an eyebrow and doubtfully hedged, “You’ve never kissed anyone?” But then his eyebrow fell and he turned his face away. “Because you don’t like girls.”
And there it was, so certain and defined.
Jasper had never said as much aloud. The evidence was contained to his midnight whispers, his indifferent attitude, his well worn computer, and his classroom fantasies. There was some satisfaction in his own nervously spoken, “Right,” that he hadn’t quite expected.
Nodding, Edward lifted a hand to wrap around his neck, rubbing awkwardly. “That must really suck,” he offered, but then turned an immediate and delicious shade of scarlet.
Jasper realized the hidden context of Edward’s words and found his own face flushing. Ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled between them, Jasper shrugged. “Eh, who really wants some asshole slobbering in their mouth, anyway?”
Edward finally met his gaze, rolling his still-puffy eyes. “There’s more to it than just slobbering in someone’s mouth, Jasper.” Then Edward’s eyes seem to grow brighter as he explained with an enthusiasm that made Jasper uncomfortable, “There’s something about having someone open themselves up to you, let you get close enough to kiss them, that’s… special and meaningful. It’s a language all its own, a way to tell someone what they mean to you and how much you want them without using words.” When Edward finished, he was impossibly more red, the tips of his ears a startling magenta.
Jasper realized then that Edward was one of those laughable romantics and felt a fleeting swelling of what might have been a mocking chuckle. Had Jasper not felt overwhelmingly unfortunate to have never experienced what Edward described, he would have.
But he was filled, brimming, with a profound sadness that must have shown in his expression, for Edward’s wistful smile quickly faded. Jasper lacked the grace and nobility necessary to suppress his whispered plea.
“Show me,” Jasper implored, though he knew that doing so would be risking whatever scant closeness he’d only just regained.
Edward’s hand was once again around his neck, anxious as he scratched and avoided Jasper’s stare. “I don’t know…” he trailed off, uncertain but—to Jasper’s exultation—not entirely repulsed.
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