Chapter: The Weight of Absence

The forest was unchanged.

It greeted Edward with the same soft murmurs he remembered from his earliest days in Forks, the whisper of wind sifting through hemlocks, the subtle shift of small creatures darting under leaf litter, the silver-threaded stream flowing steadily on as if no time had passed at all. And yet for him, everything had. Two years abroad, away from the façade of high school corridors and cafeteria chatter, away from Bella’s persistent pleas and all the chaos her presence had awoken in him. Two years to let the clamor fade into silence, and silence into something like peace.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of damp moss and cedar bark. For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, his chest did not feel like a cage. There was no ache of guilt pressing against his ribs, no frantic need to check on the fragile heartbeat of a human girl whose desires had always threatened to eclipse his restraint. He had thought love would be stronger than temptation, but what he had felt for Bella had twisted itself into something else, something sharp, impatient, insistent. When she had begged for immortality, he had realized the truth with the clarity of glass shattering: it had not been him she loved, but the promise of forever.

And when Carlisle had erased her memories, when her wide brown eyes had blinked at him as if he were only another passing stranger, Edward had felt the strangest thing of all. Relief.

He closed his eyes now, and in that darkness the memory rose, Bella’s face wiped clean of recognition, the burden lifting like fog after rain. He had walked away then, not as a coward but as a man unshackled, and he had sworn to himself he would not return until he could bear the weight of this place again.

Now here he was. Two years older, though time had not etched a single mark upon him. Two years steadier, with the certainty that he had chosen rightly.

His reverie broke at the faint crunch of footsteps, not the light, scattered skitter of prey, but the deliberate weight of someone large, someone watching. Edward stilled, head turning just slightly, every muscle aware.

Then the scent hit him, pungent, earthy, wild heat. Familiar.

Edward almost sighed. Of course.

The figure emerged through the treeline with long, confident strides. Jacob Black. The boy was gone, replaced by a man. He was taller still, broader than before, his body cut into the kind of strength only time and relentless transformation could build. His dark hair, longer now, swung past his jaw, framing the intensity of his expression. Bronze skin gleamed beneath the dapples of sunlight, and his eyes, fierce, steady brown, fastened on Edward as if he had been waiting.

“Cullen,” Jacob said flatly, his voice deeper, roughened with age.

Edward inclined his head. “Black.”

Jacob didn’t move closer, though his shoulders squared in an instinctive show of readiness. His gaze flickered up and down, as though measuring how much had changed, and how much hadn’t.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jacob said after a beat. His tone carried neither surprise nor welcome, only a blunt acknowledgment. “It’s been… what, two years?”

Edward’s mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile. “Roughly.” He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, adopting a casual stance that cost him nothing but might defuse the tension. “I was out of the country.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed slightly, as though the answer was unsatisfactory. “And in all that time, you didn’t… see Bella?”

Edward’s jaw tightened, but only for an instant. He kept his tone even, almost detached. “Not really. We are not friends. Nor are we anything more.” His gaze drifted upward, following the green canopy overhead. “She shouldn’t know me. And she doesn’t.”

That truth hovered in the air between them like fog, heavy and immovable.

Jacob shifted his weight, bare feet pressing deeper into the moss. His eyes didn’t leave Edward’s face, and Edward felt the scrutiny like a physical press against his skin. Searching for something, he thought. Waiting for me to betray myself.

Edward met the stare calmly. “You must be happy I left her. You wanted her, didn’t you?”

The flare of tension was immediate, shoulders tight, fists curling, a faint tremor in the air as Jacob’s body threatened to yield to heat. For a moment Edward almost regretted the provocation. Almost.

But Jacob mastered it. He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw set. “She’s a friend,” he said, voice low but clear. “But I don’t see her that way. Not anymore.”

Edward arched one brow, but he didn’t speak.

Jacob’s gaze flickered briefly to the ground before returning. “And it’s better this way. She doesn’t remember any of it, any of us. No vampires, no wolves, no danger. She gets to be normal. Just… live her life. That’s what she deserves.” His tone hardened on the last word, as though daring Edward to disagree.

Silence stretched.

For once, Edward did not. He thought of Bella’s laughter, her stubbornness, her pleading eyes, then of her blank face when Carlisle’s work was done, all trace of him gone. He had believed it cruel in the moment, but now… Jacob was right. It was better.

“Then we agree,” Edward said finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

Jacob’s eyes narrowed, studying him as if still unwilling to believe that.

Edward straightened, lifting his chin slightly. He was done here. “Goodbye, Jacob.”

He turned and began to walk, his steps noiseless across the forest floor. The air shifted behind him, warm and tense. Jacob didn’t follow, but Edward could feel the weight of his stare like a hand pressed between his shoulders. Relentless, unyielding.

He sighed inwardly. A wolf thing, he decided. Nothing more.

And he did not look back.

Chapter: Shifting Currents

Edward did not look back.

The forest accepted his retreat as if it had been waiting. Each step carried him deeper into the old familiarity of home, where the silence was not empty but brimming with memory. He had walked these paths as a boy pretending to be seventeen, carrying the burden of a life he had never truly lived. Now he returned as something else, not freer of his nature, but freer of the chains he had once forged for himself.

The Cullen house rose through the trees, modern angles gleaming pale against the dense green. The broad windows reflected the late afternoon light, but through them he could see the silhouettes of his family moving, distinct and familiar. The sight stirred something in him, an ache he hadn’t realized was there, as though two years away had hollowed out a space only they could fill.

He stepped onto the porch. The door opened before his hand touched the handle.

“Edward.”

Carlisle’s voice carried warmth, relief, and something Edward always felt in his presence: a steadiness like the grounding of stone. His adoptive father stood framed by the doorway, golden hair gleaming, eyes alight with welcome.

Edward let himself smile faintly. “Carlisle.”

The next moment Esme was there, swift and graceful, her arms folding around him in a gesture he could neither resist nor deny. She was all warmth, the embodiment of home, her voice low and trembling with joy. “Oh, darling, you’re back.”

“I am,” Edward murmured, allowing himself to return the embrace. For a moment the house seemed to exhale around him, the pulse of lives bound together in eternity.

Alice appeared next, practically vibrating with glee, her small hands clapping together. “Finally! I was starting to wonder if you’d gone off to brood in the Himalayas.” She gave him a sly grin. “Or joined a monastery.”

Edward rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement. “Nothing so dramatic.”

“You look different,” she said, tilting her head, gaze darting as though she were painting his aura. “Lighter. Happier.”

Edward said nothing, but Carlisle’s quiet, knowing smile was enough of an answer.

The family gathered quickly, Emmett with a booming laugh and a crushing clap on the shoulder, Rosalie offering a more restrained greeting but one not without warmth, Jasper’s quiet nod of acknowledgment. The house filled with voices, overlapping, all welcoming, all curious about his time away. Edward gave what answers he could, sparing them the unnecessary details. He had sought solitude, rest, the kind of reflection that only distance could bring. And he had found it.

Later, when the noise had dimmed and the family dispersed, Edward lingered by the great glass windows, watching the forest stretch beyond. Carlisle joined him, silent for a time, simply sharing the view.

“You’ve found peace,” Carlisle said at last, his voice measured.

Edward nodded. “Or something close enough.”

Carlisle’s gaze was soft. “I’m glad.”

Edward’s lips curved faintly, but his thoughts drifted back to the encounter in the woods. Jacob Black, older now, grown into the full weight of his power, and yet… different. Steadier, less raw than before. But it was the way Jacob had looked at him that lingered: expectant, searching, unwilling to turn away.

Edward pushed the thought aside. A wolf thing, he reminded himself. Instinct, suspicion, nothing more.

Yet when the night deepened and the forest grew quiet again, he found himself remembering the press of that gaze all too clearly.

Far across the boundary line, Jacob could not shake the encounter either.

He had returned to the reservation restless, the weight of his body coiled as though his wolf skin still pressed against him. He should have been calm, Edward Cullen was back, yes, but no longer entwined in his world, no longer a threat. The man had said it himself: he was done with all of it. That should have been the end of it.

And yet.

Jacob sat on the porch of his house, elbows braced against his knees, staring at the darkness thick with pine and salt air. His hands curled restlessly against his thighs, fingers twitching with the urge to shift, to run. But it wasn’t the wolf that prowled inside him tonight. It was something else.

Edward.

Not the Edward he remembered, the pale, brooding figure who always seemed on the edge of a storm. This Edward had looked… different. His face was freer somehow, his voice steady without strain. When he had said goodbye, there had been no hidden weight behind the word, no shadow. For the first time, Jacob had seen a vampire without chains, without torment.

And it unsettled him.

Because it drew him.

The thought startled Jacob so sharply he actually stood, pacing the length of the porch with fists clenched. He didn’t want that, didn’t want to think about Cullen’s calm voice, his sharp golden eyes, the strange sense of ease that seemed to radiate from him now. He had spent years hating that family, fearing what they were, fighting against what they represented. And yet here he was, restless not because Edward had returned, but because Edward had returned different.

Jacob dragged a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

But when he closed his eyes, he could still feel the moment Edward had walked away, the way Jacob’s gaze had clung to him, unwilling to let go. And worse still, the sudden, undeniable pull in his chest, sharp and magnetic, like a tether he hadn’t known was there until it tightened.

It left him unsettled. Curious. Hungry to know what had changed in Edward, and why it mattered so damn much to him.

The forest called, but Jacob stayed rooted, jaw tight, heart pounding. He didn’t understand it. And that, more than anything, was what scared him.

Chapter: Lingering Shadows

Edward noticed first by accident.

He was sitting on the porch in the late morning, a worn book open in his hand, when a shift of wind brought a familiar musk into range. It was faint, but distinct, wild heat, salt, the faintest thread of pine and wolf. Edward’s eyes flicked toward the trees, expression unreadable, though his hand did not falter in turning the page.

Jacob Black.

The boy had grown into his scent as surely as he had into his frame. Edward could trace the distance easily, too far to be trespassing, but near enough to know it was deliberate. A watchfulness. A presence.

He did not move. Did not acknowledge. The Cullens had learned long ago that the wolves’ instincts were unpredictable things, prone to shifts Edward himself could never quite anticipate. If Jacob wanted to circle the edge of his family’s land, Edward would not interfere. Let him have his patrols. Let him be restless.

So Edward read.

And yet, as the days passed, the presence returned. Not every day, but often enough to make itself known. A shift in the trees at dusk, a shadow on the periphery of Edward’s sharp sight. He would be playing at the piano, letting his fingers sketch out quiet, aimless melodies, when he would sense it, heat at the boundary. Listening. Watching.

Always there, and always leaving before anyone else in the household remarked on it.

Edward told himself it was nothing but habit. Wolves guarded their borders fiercely, and Jacob more than most. A werewolf thing, he reminded himself. But still, his golden eyes would flick toward the forest longer than they should, curiosity stirring despite himself.

For Jacob, it began as wariness.

He told himself that at first, anyway. He just needed to be sure Edward’s return didn’t mean danger. Didn’t mean disruption. So he lingered, out of duty, out of loyalty. That was all.

Except duty didn’t explain why he lingered even when Edward was only reading on the porch, pale fingers turning pages with almost reverent care. Or why he stayed longer when Edward sat at the grand piano, head bowed, coaxing out music that felt too soft, too human, to come from a vampire’s hands.

The first time Jacob heard the melody, gentle, fluid, like water breaking sunlight, he had stilled in the trees, chest tight, throat dry. He had not expected beauty. Certainly not this kind of beauty.

And then there was Edward himself.

Jacob tried not to notice. He really did. But there was something arresting about the stillness, the way Edward’s profile caught the light through glass, sharp lines softened into something striking. The kind of face Jacob would have called cold once, inhuman. But now… now it seemed almost unfair how pretty it was.

The thought hit him like a blow, leaving him stiff and unmoored. Pretty. He’d thought of Edward Cullen, his ex-rival, the eternal source of irritation, as pretty.

“Damn it,” Jacob muttered under his breath, shaking his head hard, as though the motion could scatter the thought into the air. But when he looked back, Edward was still there, still impossibly composed, still, Jacob admitted bitterly, mesmerizing in a way he had no business being.

And against his better judgment, Jacob found himself entertained. Intrigued. Drawn, like his gaze had nowhere else to go.

What did Edward do with his days? Did he always read and play piano, or was there more? Did he hunt, wander, think as deeply as he looked like he did? Jacob wanted to know, and the wanting startled him most of all.

Alice saw it first.

The vision had slipped upon her while she was sketching designs on Esme’s drafting table, pencil sliding aimlessly across the page. For a moment her sight blurred, her head tipping sideways as the present gave way to something else.

She saw Edward, his figure lit by forest light, his face not so sharp, but softer, alight with something Alice had never seen before. And opposite him, a figure taller, broader, the unmistakable outline of Jacob Black.

There was no hostility. No tension. Only a warmth that shone between them, undefined yet powerful. Happiness, Alice realized, though the details slipped like water through her grasp. She could not see the path, only the glow of the future it promised.

Her breath caught.

Then it was gone.

She blinked, pen dropping from her fingers, heart racing though her body did not need it.

What in the world had she just seen?

For a moment she considered rushing to Edward, blurting it out, but something stopped her. The vision had been vague, fragile, as if speaking of it too soon would shatter it. And more than that, Alice felt the curious tug of mystery. She wanted to know how it would unfold, to watch it take shape without interference.

So she said nothing.

She only smiled to herself, eyes gleaming with secrets, and tucked the vision away like a jewel she would reveal when the time was right.

That night Edward stood again at the wide glass windows, watching the forest. The air was still, moonlight tracing pale silver against the treetops. He could feel it, heat lingering at the edges of his world, silent but undeniable.

Jacob.

He should have been irritated. But instead, he found himself… curious.

Why did the wolf linger? Why watch, yet never speak?

Edward’s lips curved faintly, humorless but thoughtful. Perhaps he would find out. Or perhaps not.

For now, he let the question linger, unsolved.

And beyond the glass, in the trees, a pair of dark eyes watched him still-restless, startled, and unwilling to look away.

Chapter: The Start of Something Small

Edward had always enjoyed tending to quiet things.

Books, of course. Music, certainly. But also the living stillness of the world around him. Plants, in particular, had become his latest preoccupation since his return. There was something grounding about sinking his hands into soil, arranging new life where it might thrive, coaxing beauty into bloom without force. It reminded him that eternity didn’t have to be endless repetition, it could be cultivation, patience, the steady shaping of something fragile into lasting grace.

So he was in the Cullen garden one afternoon, sleeves rolled back, pale fingers pressing roots into rich, damp earth, when the air shifted.

Edward stilled, though he didn’t look up at once. The scent was unmistakable, heat, musk, wolf.

Jacob Black.

But closer than usual.

For days now, Edward had felt him hovering at the boundaries, watching, lingering without a word. Today was different. Today, he was not at the edge. He was here.

Edward sighed softly, brushing soil from his fingers before lifting his head.

Sure enough, Jacob stood at the break in the trees, half-shadowed by pine. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, but his eyes, those restless, searching eyes, were fixed not on Edward’s face but on the row of garden beds behind him.

“…Are you seriously gardening?” Jacob asked at last, his tone caught between disbelief and amusement.

Edward tilted his head, unfazed. “I am.”

Jacob blinked. “You? A vampire?”

Edward arched one brow. “Contrary to popular belief, Jacob, I am capable of more than brooding and skulking in shadows.” His voice was dry, but not unkind.

Jacob’s lips twitched, betraying the hint of a smile before he smothered it with a snort. He stepped closer, curiosity outweighing hesitation. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Edward straightened, brushing his hands clean against his trousers. “Perhaps you haven’t looked closely enough.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, sharper than intended. He half-expected Jacob to bristle, but instead the wolf laughed, low, surprised, genuine.

“Well, I’ll give you this,” Jacob said, coming nearer to peer at the soil. “You’re not half bad at it. What is this-roses?”

“Peonies,” Edward corrected, crouching again to adjust a stem. “They’ll bloom in late spring.”

Jacob grunted, crouching too despite his bulk. He reached out as if to touch the plant, then thought better of it. “Never figured you for the flower type.”

“Most people don’t.” Edward’s voice softened slightly, almost to himself. “But I find it… peaceful.”

Something in his tone quieted Jacob. For a moment they just sat there, side by side in the garden, the silence filled only by the whisper of leaves and the distant trickle of water.

It was the first time in years that Edward did not feel the urge to fill the space, to defend himself, to justify. He simply worked, and Jacob stayed.

The next day, Jacob came again.

Edward almost expected it. He was reading this time, stretched on the porch, when the heat of Jacob’s presence prickled at the edges of his awareness. He looked up to find the wolf leaning casually against the railing, arms folded.

“What are you reading?” Jacob asked, nodding toward the book.

Edward hesitated, then closed the cover enough for the title to show. “Poetry.”

Jacob snorted. “Figures.”

Edward rolled his eyes, though the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Would you prefer I said car magazines?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Jacob shot back, grinning.

And so it began.

Day by day, the routine formed. Jacob appeared in the afternoons or evenings, sometimes unannounced, sometimes lingering long before stepping out from the trees. At first he seemed restless, as if unsure why he came at all. But each visit lasted longer than the last.

He watched Edward play piano, and though he teased at first, the teasing gave way to genuine interest, his dark eyes tracking the movement of Edward’s hands across the keys.

He sat with Edward in the garden, asking blunt questions about plants and listening with a focus that surprised them both.

He joined Edward on the porch, sprawled out lazily while Edward read, interrupting now and again with sarcastic commentary that gradually softened into curiosity.

Edward, for his part, remained awkward at first. He had not expected companionship, not from Jacob, of all people. But the wolf’s persistence, his unguarded nature, his way of stripping silence of pretense, began to wear down the sharp edges. Edward found himself speaking more freely, allowing himself small admissions, even indulging in light banter.

And with every visit, the strangeness of their pairing seemed less like intrusion and more like… inevitability.

One evening, as twilight painted the trees in shadow and gold, Edward set aside his book and regarded Jacob directly.

“You’ve made a habit of this,” he observed, voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Jacob, sprawled on the porch steps, shrugged. “Yeah. Guess I have.”

“Why?” Edward asked simply.

Jacob hesitated, gaze dropping to his hands. He flexed them once, twice, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Because you’re not what I expected.”

Edward tilted his head. “And what did you expect?”

“A vampire who does nothing but glower and remind me how much better he is than the rest of us.” Jacob grinned wider. “Turns out you’re just… a guy. A weird guy with fancy hobbies, but” He paused, eyes flicking to Edward’s face, lingering just a beat too long. “-kinda interesting.”

Edward was silent, caught between surprise and the faintest warmth stirring in his chest.

Jacob leaned back on his elbows, eyes tracing the fading light above. “Anyway… that’s why I keep coming back.”

For once, Edward did not try to dissect the words. He only nodded, lips curving ever so slightly, and turned his gaze toward the horizon as well.

And so they stayed, side by side, in a quiet neither of them felt the need to break.

Chapter: Stormlight

The garden became their unspoken meeting place.

For weeks now, Jacob and Edward had fallen into a rhythm as steady as the rainless days of summer. Jacob would arrive in the late afternoons, sometimes with a joke on his lips, sometimes in silence, and Edward would already be there, kneeling in the soil, or leaning against the porch rail, or seated at the piano where the notes drifted out through the open windows. They didn’t need to plan it. The visits simply happened, the way tides rose and fell.

Today was no different. Jacob crouched beside Edward in the garden, his huge hands dwarfed by the delicate green stems they were tending. He still teased, he always teased, but there was less sharpness now, more warmth.

Then the sky shifted. A low rumble rolled overhead, the air thickening with the smell of rain.

Jacob tilted his face upward just as the first drops pattered onto his skin. “Great,” he muttered, already feeling the heat building beneath his skin, the restless pull of the wolf rising at the promise of a storm. “I should head back before-”

“You don’t have to.”

Edward’s voice cut smooth and certain through the gathering rain. He straightened, brushing dirt from his hands, golden eyes steady on Jacob. “Come inside.”

Jacob blinked. “Inside your house? The vampire house?”

Edward gave him a look that was both weary and amused. “Do you have another suggestion? Running home half-phased and soaked?”

Jacob snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… that was the plan.”

Edward shook his head once, decisive. “Come.”

Before Jacob could argue, Edward was already walking toward the porch, rain beginning to bead against his pale hair, his posture calm, unbothered. Jacob hesitated only a second before huffing under his breath and following.

The Cullen house loomed sleek and quiet against the storm. Its wide windows glowed warmly from within, reflections bending across the sheets of rain. Jacob slowed at the door, but Edward pushed it open without pause.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate.

The Cullen family were gathered casually in the living room, Alice perched cross-legged on a chair, Jasper leaning in the corner, Rosalie idly flipping through a magazine while Emmett fiddled with some electronic device. Carlisle and Esme sat together on the sofa, a picture of serenity.

The moment Edward entered with Jacob in tow, however, serenity fractured into silence.

Every gaze lifted. Not sharply, not rudely, but with that subtle intensity only vampires could manage. Their expressions were carefully composed, nonchalant, yet the weight of curiosity pressed thick in the air.

Edward ignored them all.

Without a word, he steered Jacob across the room, straight through the stares, and up the staircase. If Jacob noticed the way the family’s eyes followed, he said nothing, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin.

Edward’s room was quiet, walls lined with books, music, instruments, a sanctuary of stillness. Jacob stepped in and glanced around, rain dripping from his hair and clothes. “Huh. Not bad. Bit gloomy, though.”

Edward ignored the jab, crossing the room to retrieve a towel from a nearby drawer. He returned and handed it over with a cool, efficient motion. “Here.”

Jacob took it with a smirk, running it over his damp hair. “So what, dragged me up here because you’re embarrassed to be seen hanging out with me?”

Edward froze mid-step, then turned slowly, one brow arched in disbelief. Without hesitation, he reached out and slapped Jacob, not hard, but quick and irritated, the way one might swat a buzzing fly.

Jacob barked out a laugh. “Ow. Okay, I deserved that.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “No, Jacob. I dragged you up here because my family is… insufferably nosy. And I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or awkward.”

Jacob studied him for a moment, towel draped over his shoulders. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “Uncomfortable? Around a bunch of nosy vampires? Please. I’ve somehow managed to befriend you. I’m pretty sure I can handle hanging out with your family.”

Edward blinked at him, caught off guard by the casual certainty in his tone. But Jacob only shrugged, grin unwavering.

“Very well,” Edward said at last, tone dry. “Let’s go test that theory.”

They descended together. The family, to their credit, attempted to maintain their carefully crafted air of indifference. Alice, however, failed spectacularly, her grin was bright enough to light the entire room. Emmett’s eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between astonishment and mischief. Rosalie’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Jasper’s lips twitched faintly, though he said nothing. Carlisle and Esme remained serene, though their warmth radiated like sunlight.

Edward stopped at the foot of the stairs, Jacob at his side. His gaze swept the room once before he spoke, voice clipped but steady.

“Jacob and I are friends now. He’s here. Don’t be weird about it.”

For a heartbeat there was silence.

Then Emmett let out a booming laugh. “Friends? Oh, man, I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Alice clapped her hands together. “I knew it!”

Rosalie snorted delicately. “Unbelievable.”

Jasper offered a low chuckle.

Carlisle smiled faintly. Esme’s eyes softened.

Jacob, to Edward’s horror, grinned wide and joined in the teasing. “See? They like me better already.”

Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This was a mistake.”

“Too late now,” Jacob said cheerfully, settling into an armchair as though he belonged there.

The conversation unfolded awkwardly at first, the family circling around Jacob with questions, comments, light ribbing. But slowly the edges smoothed. Edward, despite himself, relaxed into the rhythm. Jacob held his own easily, quick with a joke, sharper with comebacks, his laughter disarming in its simplicity.

By the end of the evening, it felt almost normal.

When Jacob finally stood to leave, the rain had softened into mist. He lingered by the door, glancing at Edward with a sly grin.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “Thanks for the towel. And the vampire hospitality. Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, huh?”

Edward gave him a flat look. “Evidently.”

Jacob leaned in just slightly, grin widening. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Edward’s hand shot out in an instant, landing a sharp, annoyed slap against Jacob’s arm.

“Hey!” Jacob laughed, stepping back, clearly delighted. “Knew I could get you.”

He left still chuckling, long strides carrying him down the porch steps into the damp night.

Inside, the family was silent. Their eyes tracked Edward in a dozen subtle shades, curiosity, amusement, knowing smiles.

Edward ignored every single one of them. He turned on his heel, walked calmly up the stairs, and closed his bedroom door without a word.

Jacob’s laughter lingered long after he crossed back into the trees. He replayed the evening over and over, the warmth of the Cullen house, the teasing, Edward’s sharp annoyance that somehow wasn’t cold at all.

But most of all, he remembered the moments between, the way Edward had looked at him in the rain, the quiet sincerity of “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” the brush of pale fingers when he handed over the towel.

And as Jacob walked home, still smiling to himself, the realization began to press in.

Maybe this wasn’t just intrigue.

Maybe it wasn’t just friendship.

Maybe, against all odds, it was becoming something more.

Chapter: The Favorite

By now, Jacob’s presence in the Cullen household was no longer a novelty, it was routine.

He appeared almost daily, sometimes tracked in by the scent of soil from Edward’s garden, sometimes with a grin and some half-baked joke, sometimes simply with silence and an odd sense of ease. The family had adjusted in their own ways. Alice hummed brighter whenever Jacob walked through the door, Jasper seemed amused at the emotional chaos Jacob brought in, and even Rosalie, though sharp as ever, was more tolerant than Edward would have expected.

Esme, however, had taken to Jacob in a way that was both unsurprising and, at least to Edward, deeply irritating.

It was during one of their family gatherings, a sort of informal evening where everyone lingered in the living room, the quiet hum of music filling the background. Jacob had sprawled on the long couch as though he belonged there, laughing with Emmett over something about sports.

Esme had drifted over, her warmth radiating like a second hearth. She perched beside Jacob with a smile so kind it softened every line of her face.

“You’ve grown so much, Jacob,” she said, her voice affectionate, her hand briefly brushing over his arm in motherly approval. “You’ve become such a strong, good young man.”

Jacob flushed, actually flushed, which made Emmett roar with laughter.

“Uh—thanks, Esme,” Jacob said, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed but smiling nonetheless.

Edward, who had been pretending to focus on a book nearby, snapped his gaze up sharply. His eyes narrowed before he could stop himself.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like Esme’s hand lingering on Jacob’s arm, or the way Jacob’s face lit up under her praise, or how warmly everyone seemed to accept it. He wasn’t used to the sensation, this sudden prickle under his skin, sharp and unreasonable.

He turned a page in his book with more force than necessary.

Alice’s quiet giggle reached his ears instantly. He didn’t need to look up to know she’d caught every flicker of his expression.

The evening stretched on. Carlisle joined the conversation with Jacob, Esme hovering fondly nearby, Jasper smirking faintly from the sidelines, Rosalie arching a perfect brow at Edward’s subtle sulking.

Edward tried to busy himself with the piano instead, fingers moving across the keys in smooth, complicated patterns but his eyes strayed far too often, drawn inexorably toward Jacob laughing on the couch, Esme’s hand lightly resting against his shoulder as she leaned in to ask him about his home.

Every time, Edward’s jaw tightened just slightly more.

By the time Jacob finally stood, stretching, the whole family had exchanged knowing looks at least three times. Edward ignored them all.

“I should get going,” Jacob said with his usual grin, slipping his shoes back on near the door. He glanced toward Edward, who lingered a few feet away with his arms folded, posture stiff.

Something about Edward’s face, his faintly narrowed eyes, the faint downturn of his lips, made Jacob pause. He couldn’t place it. Annoyance, maybe? But at what?

“You look kinda… pouty,” Jacob teased, stepping closer. “What’s wrong? Someone steal your piano?”

Edward scoffed, turning slightly away. “I don’t pout.”

Jacob’s grin widened. He closed the distance between them in two long strides and, before Edward could react, wrapped his arms around him in a sudden, firm hug.

Edward froze.

The room behind them went utterly still.

Jacob leaned down, voice low but warm, teasing at the edge of sincerity. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be my favorite Cullen.”

Edward’s hands twitched uselessly at his sides for a moment before instinct kicked in. He lifted one and slapped Jacob’s back, not hard, but sharp enough to qualify as annoyed retaliation. Still, the movement came late, after the hug had lingered just long enough to be real.

When Jacob finally pulled back, Edward’s face was carefully blank, though the faintest color might have touched his ears.

Jacob grinned wider, unbothered. “See you tomorrow.” He winked, casual and mischievous, before turning and heading for the door.

Edward lifted a hand in a short wave, his expression—if not entirely pleased—softer, no longer carrying that faint scowl.

The door closed.

Silence hung for half a heartbeat.

Then Alice sighed dramatically, chin propped on her hand, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, Edward. You’re so obvious.”

Edward ignored her.

Emmett chuckled, low and rumbling. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger already.”

Edward ignored that, too.

Even Rosalie smirked faintly, which was somehow worse.

Edward sat back down at the piano, hands resuming their place on the keys, posture calm and unbothered in every way that mattered, except for the faint upward curve at the corner of his lips.

And miles away, Jacob walked through the trees with a spring in his step, the echo of Edward’s slap still tingling against his back, his grin refusing to fade.

Chapter: Almost Something

Jacob came over the next day. And the next. And the next after that.

At first, it had been about the garden, soil under their fingernails, Jacob laughing at Edward’s delicate precision with plants, Edward pretending not to roll his eyes at Jacob’s clumsy enthusiasm. But little by little, the visits stretched beyond their shared patch of earth.

Now Jacob stayed for dinners he didn’t eat, long evenings of music, even the occasional chess game with Edward that ended in Jacob tossing the board halfway across the room in dramatic defeat.

They were slipping into something neither of them named.

It started with the small things.

Jacob complained once, half joking, that Edward always hovered when he sat on the edge of the piano bench. The next evening, Edward simply moved over without a word, leaving enough space for Jacob to sprawl beside him. It became routine. Edward’s hands moved fluidly across the keys, Jacob’s shoulder bumped against his as he leaned in, sometimes humming along, sometimes tapping the wrong notes just to irritate him.

“Do you have to?” Edward asked one evening, his fingers not faltering.

“Yep,” Jacob said, grinning as his large hand clumsily pressed another wrong note. “Adds personality.”

Edward sighed, but the corner of his mouth curved up, betraying him.

Then there were the conversations.

They found themselves talking late into the evening, long after the rest of the house had gone quiet. Jacob sprawled on Edward’s couch, Edward leaned in the doorway or perched on the armrest, and their voices threaded through the stillness like something natural.

Jacob would ask questions, about history, about music, about places Edward had been. Edward answered, sometimes clipped, sometimes dry, but often with surprising patience.

“You’ve seen Paris?” Jacob asked one night, eyes wide with genuine awe.

Edward tilted his head, remembering. “Yes. Many times.”

“Bet the food sucks,” Jacob teased, smirking.

Edward actually laughed, soft, surprised, and Jacob stared at him, caught off guard by the sound. He didn’t say anything, just filed it away somewhere he didn’t quite dare examine.

Everyone else noticed.

Esme fussed over Jacob as though he were already family, pressing warm blankets into his hands when he fell asleep on the couch one evening, asking him about his day with the kind of gentle interest that made him glow.

Carlisle included him in their conversations without hesitation, as though Jacob had always been part of their circle.

Alice smirked constantly, eyes sparkling whenever she looked between Jacob and Edward. Jasper watched with quiet amusement, no doubt feeling the undercurrent of emotions swirling tighter between them. Emmett, of course, teased them mercilessly, though Edward ignored him with practiced ease.

Even Rosalie, sharp, skeptical Rosalie, had gone quiet, her eyes less hostile when they landed on Jacob, her silence more contemplative than condemning.

But the most telling thing was this: Edward didn’t stop any of it. He didn’t pull back, didn’t dismiss Jacob, didn’t discourage his presence. He simply… let him stay.

One evening, as rain pattered softly against the wide windows, Jacob lounged on Edward’s couch flipping lazily through one of his books while Edward tuned a violin nearby.

“You ever notice,” Jacob said absently, “we kinda act like… an old married couple?”

Edward stilled, bow hovering above the strings.

Jacob glanced up at him, grin crooked. “Y’know. You, with your gardening and piano. Me, hanging around bugging you all day. Everyone watching us like they’re waiting for something. It’s kinda funny.”

Edward set the violin down carefully, his expression controlled. “That’s ridiculous.”

Jacob’s grin widened. “You didn’t say no.”

Edward shot him a flat look, though his composure wavered just enough that Jacob caught it.

The silence stretched, thick with something neither of them named. Then Jacob chuckled, breaking the moment, flipping another page. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

But Edward’s fingers lingered against the violin longer than necessary.

Later that night, as Jacob left the house, he caught Edward standing at the door, watching him go.

“You’re coming back tomorrow?” Edward asked, too casually.

Jacob turned, brow raised, smile tugging at his lips. “You sound like you want me to.”

Edward rolled his eyes, but the faintest, most reluctant smile betrayed him. “Just don’t be late.”

Jacob laughed, warm and easy, and disappeared into the trees.

And Edward, standing in the doorway with the rain misting softly around him, let himself smile openly for once, though only after Jacob was gone.

Chapter: When You Don’t Tell Me

The rhythm of their days had become so steady, so dependable, that when Jacob didn’t show up, the silence echoed.

Edward noticed it immediately. Morning turned into afternoon, and the garden remained untouched, no broad shadow filling the porch steps, no too-loud laughter cutting through the calm. By late afternoon, Edward was pacing the length of the living room, book unopened in his hand.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Alice offered from her chair, though the sparkle in her eyes suggested she was enjoying herself far too much.

Edward shot her a sharp glance. “Busy with what? He’s never-” He broke off, jaw tightening. He turned abruptly and strode toward the window, arms folded.

Emmett grinned from where he was sprawled across the couch. “Aw, you miss your boyfriend.”

Edward froze, the muscles in his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t rise to the bait, he *wouldn’t, *but Jasper’s low chuckle in the corner betrayed what he was feeling anyway.

Esme, ever the peacemaker, said gently, “Edward, I’m sure Jacob is fine. He must have had something come up.”

Edward’s fingers tapped against his arm restlessly. “He should have told me.”

The words slipped out, sharper than he intended, but they landed. Carlisle looked up from his book with mild curiosity, Rosalie raised an elegant brow, and Alice’s grin widened.

“You’re hovering,” Jasper drawled softly.

Edward ignored them, though the truth of it pressed heavily. He was hovering, hovering over the absence Jacob had left behind. By evening, he was at the piano, fingers moving in restless, agitated chords that didn’t resolve.

And still Jacob didn’t come.

When Jacob finally strode through the door the next afternoon, Edward was waiting, perched on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed, expression thunderous.

Jacob stopped short, blinking. “Uh… hi?”

Edward was on his feet in a flash. He crossed the space between them and jabbed a finger lightly against Jacob’s chest, not enough to hurt, but enough to punctuate every word.

“You,” jab. “Didn’t.” jab. “Tell me.” jab. “Anything.”

Jacob blinked down at him, startled, before the corners of his mouth twitched. “Wait. You’re mad at me?”

Edward scowled. “Not mad. Concerned. You disappeared without a word.” His voice sharpened, though his golden eyes held more worry than anger. “Do you have any idea how-how thoughtless that was?”

Jacob’s grin softened into something smaller, guilty. “Oh. Damn. I… I forgot to mention it.”

Edward folded his arms again, huffing in obvious frustration. “Forgot?”

Jacob winced. “Yeah. Pack stuff. Sam needed me yesterday, and it ended up taking all day. I just—” He paused, looking at Edward, who still stood stiff and pouty, glaring at the floor as though it had personally betrayed him. Jacob sighed, then stepped forward.

“Sorry.” His voice dropped low, earnest. “Really. I should’ve told you. Won’t happen again.”

Edward’s eyes flickered up, uncertainty still lingering.

So Jacob did the only thing that felt right, he pulled Edward into a hug. Strong, warm arms wrapped around him, steadying. “Promise,” Jacob murmured against his ear. “Next time, you’ll know.”

Edward hesitated only a fraction of a second before his hands lifted, one resting awkwardly against Jacob’s shoulder, the other settling at his back. His face remained tense, but the line of his shoulders eased.

When they finally pulled back, Jacob grinned sheepishly down at him. “Better?”

Edward tried, he really did, to maintain the scowl. But his lips betrayed him, softening at the edges, almost a smile. “Slightly.”

“Good enough.”

From across the room, the Cullens had been watching unabashedly.

Esme’s expression was soft, Carlisle’s was thoughtful, Alice’s eyes sparkled like Christmas lights. Jasper smirked knowingly. Rosalie rolled her eyes but said nothing.

And Emmett, of course, leaned back with a scoff and muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Yet they still deny behaving like a couple.”

Alice snorted. Jasper chuckled. Rosalie muttered, “Pathetic.”

Edward, catching the whispers, straightened instantly, breaking the contact with Jacob as if burned. “We are not-”

Jacob laughed, cutting him off. “Relax, man. They’re just messing with you.”

Edward’s jaw tightened, but the faint pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

Jacob only grinned wider, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you in the garden tomorrow?”

Edward glanced at him, exhaled slowly, and nodded. “Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And as Jacob strode out the door, Edward stood in the living room surrounded by his family’s pointed stares and biting back the smile that threatened to take over his face.

Chapter: The Picnic

“Have a good date!”

Emmett’s booming voice followed Edward all the way to the door, laughter shaking the walls.

The smack that rang out a heartbeat later, Edward’s hand connecting sharply with the back of Emmett’s head, was equally loud.

“It’s not a date,” Edward snapped, golden eyes narrowed, though the faintest flush threatened at the edge of his pale skin. He turned on his heel before Emmett could retort, already heading down the porch steps where Jacob waited, hands shoved in his pockets, grin wide.

“Sounded like a date to me,” Jacob teased.

Edward shot him a glare that lacked real heat. “Do you want your food or not?”

That shut Jacob up, at least until they reached the park.

It was strange, Edward thought, to be here with him. The park was dotted with people enjoying the rare stretch of clear sky, families with children, couples stretched across blankets, teens playing frisbee. Human noise surrounded them, but somehow, with Jacob beside him, it didn’t feel suffocating.

They found a quiet patch beneath an old oak. Edward unfurled the blanket he’d brought, smoothing it with meticulous precision. Jacob dropped down without hesitation, stretching out like he owned the ground itself.

Edward set the basket between them. “I made something,” he said, tone casual, but the slightest edge of tension curled in his chest.

Jacob sat up immediately, curious. “Wait—you cooked?”

Edward arched a brow. “Contrary to what you may believe, I am capable of preparing human food.”

Jacob peeked into the basket and let out a low whistle. Sandwiches, roasted chicken, fruit, even cookies neatly packed in wax paper. “Damn, Edward. You do know how to spoil a guy.”

Edward’s lips twitched, and he busied himself retrieving his own container, what looked like a dark, steaming soup in a thermos.

Jacob smirked knowingly. “Let me guess. Not tomato soup.”

Edward met his gaze with dry composure. “Sharp deduction.”

The afternoon passed in a rhythm that felt almost… easy. Jacob ate with unrestrained delight, cracking jokes and sharing commentary between bites. Edward listened, occasionally offering a sardonic remark, more often just watching, his gaze lingering longer than it should on Jacob’s animated expressions, his laughter.

At one point, Jacob offered him a piece of fruit. “You sure you don’t want to try, just for fun?”

Edward raised a brow. “Are you suggesting I eat a strawberry purely for your entertainment?”

Jacob grinned. “Exactly.”

Edward sighed, plucked the berry from Jacob’s fingers, and bit into it with exaggerated disdain. Jacob nearly choked laughing.

The sun began to dip, casting the park in gold. Edward started folding the blanket, Jacob packing the basket with easy movements. That was when it happened.

A group of teenage human boys, five or six, loud and brash, wandered too close. Their laughter was sharp, their eyes mean.

“Hey, pretty boy,” one called, smirking at Edward. “Didn’t know they made guys like you.”

Another whistled mockingly. “You modeling for your boyfriend here?”

The rest joined in, a chorus of jeers and crude remarks.

Edward stiffened, shoulders tightening. He said nothing, his composure icy, but Jacob surged to his feet, fists clenching, heat rising under his skin.

“What d