Draw Me In

–|*|–

Twenty Two – Missing You

.

.
*~ I hear your name in certain circles,
and it always makes me smile
I spend my time thinkin' about you,
and it's almost driving me wild ~*

.

Some weeks later . . .

The crush of shoppers makes me breathe a little quicker as I attempt to step my way through them. Under the suspiciously white looking sky, strings of lights – blue, red, green, yellow – spun around lampposts makes for a jarring contrast. Under the cold light of day, and if I weren't being crushed, I'd probably find the little lights endearing, but as it is, I'm having difficulty inhaling at the moment, so.

Any other time of year and I'd find it uncomfortable. At Christmas time, I'm finding it pretty damn unbearable.

We're not even in December yet (a few weeks shy of it, actually), yet all of these people seem to have their panic on. I silently call Alice and Rose very unkind things in my head when I think back to the moment they told me, you're getting the lights this year.

But why? I'd whined back. We already have lights.

Correction, we had lights. Rose had given me a no-nonsense look. Which you sat on and broke last year, if you remember.

I did remember, I'd just been hoping they'd forgot.

I'll Amazon it, I'd countered.

Alice had been particularly horrified at that. No! You have the get the ones from the little shop up New Street. They have the ones we had before plus they've got this whole other range…

I'd just looked at her, unamused. They're lights Alice, lights. Christmas lights at that. We don't need a range.

But she was having none of it. With a squint, she'd declared, I'll write you a list.

So here I am, said list safely tucked away in my jean pocket as I attempt to venture the uphill battle that is: Shopping At Christmas.

–|*|–

I find the little store tucked away in a relatively quiet – as much as the term quiet can apply right now – bit of town. I let out a breath as the crowd around me thins, and I take a minute to inhale the cold air before stepping through the door.

A bell jingles above the door to signal my arrival and the man behind the till smiles at me. I pull my scarf down before smiling back and stepping into one of the aisles. My mouth drops as I take in the vast assortment of lights on the shelves, because there is definitely a range, and then some.

Fumbling with my zip, I pull it down and yank Alice's list out of my pocket. I let out a huff at the length of it. I hadn't actually properly looked at it before now. How can we need this many lights? We live in a flat, a flat, not a bloody mansion.

"Can I help with you anything, bab?"

I startle slightly, looking up to see the man that was behind the till now stood in front of me. He's wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a kind smile.

I look at the list and then back to him again. "There's quite a lot," I say, almost apologetically.

"That's what I like to hear," he grins, and then gestures to the list in my grasp. "May I?"

"Sure." I hand it over with no small amount of relief.

My phone chooses that moment to have a little spaz out in my pocket, and I press my lips together to hold in the laugh that accompanies the vibration. I pry the offending little object out with my fingers and swipe the screen. I don't even check to see who it's from, because I already know.

Seriously considering retiring and opening a little shop instead. Everyone loves a little shop, don't they?

I smile like stupid at the screen.

What would you sell?

Not even a minute later –

Pillows.

I laugh, loudly . . . and then remember I'm not alone.

The man crinkle-smiles at me when I look up, and my face burns.

"There's a chair up top by the till if you want to sit." He holds up Alice's list. "I can fetch these for you."

"You don't have to – "

He waves me off. "It's why I'm here, bab. Besides, whoever wrote this list has been very specific. Like finding a needle in a haystack if you're not a light connoisseur."

Of which I am not. So after about ten more thank you's, I find myself plopping down into the aforementioned seat. I feel kind of bad having him do my shopping for me, but he's right. I'd be here all day if he left me to it.

I look back down at my phone. Not enough pillows at your hotel?

Oh, plenty. I just wish I got to enjoy them more.

I stare at my phone, puzzled. And then –

Northerners are very vocal.

I grin. They probably remember the last time you were there.

Which I appreciate. Just not at 3AM in the morning.

Maybe they forgot the time.

Unlikely, his message reads. Northerners are renowned for never forgetting, Bella. ;)

I snort, and my hand immediately darts up to my mouth. I look around sneakily, but no one seems to have noticed. I can feel my smile touching every single fingertip, and feel more than a little bit ridiculous at how I'm reacting to a tv reference and an emoticon.

If only Alice could see me now… what stage was 'texting' at again?

I let my hand fall, but my smile persists as I reply. So I've heard.

"Here you are, love."

My head snaps up to see the man stood in front of me, more than several boxes of lights in his arms. With a free fingertip, he waves the list at me. "This was very thorough."

I can only nod slowly, my eyes wide.

As he scans and bags the lights for me, my phone buzzes again.

What are you doing?

"That'll be £25.57," he says with a smile. I actually don't think he's stopped smiling the entire time that I've been in here. But it's not off-putting. I just smile back.

Christmas-lights shopping, I tap out, handing over the money.

"Thank you." I take the offered bags with an accidental huff. They hadn't looked that heavy.

That's a thing?

I grin down at my screen, and when I look back up the man's smile it's still there but with a different tilt. Like he knows something I don't.

I wish it wasn't, I reply once I'm out of the shop, still kind of puzzled over the man's glance. I'd much rather be shopping for pillows instead.

Don't steal my idea, he writes back.

And I laugh, loudly, flooding the air around me with warmth.

–|*|–

When I get back home, I trudge straight into the living room and deposit the bags onto where Alice is sprawled out on the sofa.

"Hey!" she sputters from beneath her precious lights. "I'm sitting here!"

I flop down beside her. "I had to carry those all around town, lazy. All the way on the bus too, because there were no seats left."

"It's fifteen minutes on the bus," she says, pushing the bags to the side. "I don't think your arms would have fallen off from fifteen minutes of holding – " here she pauses, lifting a bag by the handle and then rolling her eyes at the, apparently, insignificant weight of it – "light to moderately light bags."

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're such – "

"Oh – yay!" Breaking into the bags, she pulls out one of the boxes. "I wasn't sure if he'd have these in stock – I couldn't get them last year – but you found them!"

My eyes narrow further. I'm all but squinting at her now. "You said I was replacing these lights from last year."

She waves me off. "I figured I'd get them all in while you were up there."

I groan, leaning back on the couch.

"Oh, hush," she smiles, nudging my shoulder with hers. "I had stuff to do here that I couldn't do with you here, so – "

"– So you figured you way-lay me as long as possible," I finish for her.

"Um." She shrugs. "Pretty much, yeah."

I release my squint, rolling my eyes instead. "Have you kicked Rose out, too?"

"I have asked Rose to run me an errand," she corrects.

My eyebrows hit my hair in disbelief. "And she did?" I loved Rose, but she was nobody's dogsbody.

" . . . With some light persuasion."

"Uh-huh."

" . . . With a lot of persuasion?"

"Right."

"Fine! Blackmail." Throwing her hands up in the air, she counters, "Same difference."

I laugh lightly, letting my head drop onto her shoulder. It makes my neck ache because she's shorter than me, but I'm suddenly too tired to move. I guess Shopping At Christmas just about did me in after all. "What are you watching?" I ask, just now noticing that the tv is on and paused – but on a flurry of motion so I can't tell what it is.

"Telly."

"Duh."

I can't see her face from this angle, but I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Jasper."

My forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Huh?"

Rather than explaining, she simply presses the play button on the remote. And – oh.

Oh.

Their stage comes to life before my eyes – all blue and lit up and electric – accompanied by the rush of cheering, screaming, singing of the crowd. The camera pans and zooms on a certain individual, sticky white t-shirt and drippy hair intact, and my eyes widen at the same time my mouth drops.

"Oh," I breathe.

Alice giggles next to me. "I know, right? I can't believe Jasper never told me one of their gigs was being filmed. I think he's embarrassed about it – crazy, right? And it's not like we haven't already seen them live before, I – "

Alice carries on speaking, but her words smooth out into a muffled blur – swallowed by the screen in front of me. It's been weeks since I've seen him – and for only a short period of time, too, in the grand scheme of things – but my body is sparking and my heart is racing like he's stood right in front of me. No. Not even like that. It doesn't feel like it did before – I don't. Something is… different? I feel nervous, yes, but there's a curious flutter in my stomach, a tightening in my heart, that's new. It's not familiarity – close, but not quite. It is… fonder.

I almost choke on my own saliva when I realise that I'm realising his absence.

Or in other words: I think I… I think I miss him.

And then I do choke.

"God, Bella!" Alice yanks me up and thumps hard on my back as I hack. "Are you okay?"

I just wave with my hands spasmodically, because it hurts to speak at the minute. "I… fine." I manage to wheeze out when my coughing recedes a little. My eyes are blurry with water from my choking fit, but he's still strikingly clear in my vision.

And then, unbidden, his words come back to me in a rush – from what seems like eons ago:

I don't remember ever seeing anyone that clearly before.

"Seriously – are you alright? Are you ill?" She doesn't wait for my response before she's leaping away from me. "No! Don't be ill! I always get sick when you do, just wait – " She flutters aimlessly in front of me before bounding into the kitchen. "I'll get you some tissues and buttercup syrup, just hold on one sec!"

I open my mouth to tell her I'm not sick, that I'm fine, but then TS starts singing, and I start choking again.

"I'm coming!" Alice shrills from the kitchen, and I hear the drum of her feet as she rushes around. "Stop dying!"

–|*|–

I hole up in my room that night with very little resistance from Alice. She's been treating me like a leper since my coughing fit earlier, which incidentally, I am completely fine with. All week she's been pestering me and Rose about the fireworks show being hosted down the road in the park. I hadn't wanted to go, mostly because it's pretty bloody cold outside now, and, oh yeah – Bonfire Night was a fortnight ago.

So I might have leprosy, but at least I'm warm.

All snug and toasty under my duvet, my fingers hover – undecided – above the keyboard. My earphones are shoved in tightly, and I'm listening to soft piano pieces, and the sound of rain – but I'm stuck. Word is open and my document is blank.

The little bar blinks at me slowly – taunting.

When I was in college and uni, I used to write all of the time. Mostly poems that I'd turn into songs I'd hum or mime without instrument, or much rhythm, to be honest. Some I posted on a blog I'd created on a whim my second year of college. I never got any comments, and I didn't have any people following it – or reading any of my stuff, I'd wager. But I wasn't doing it for the praise, I was doing it because it made me feel… good.

And maybe on a more pathetic level, this was all the socialisation I could take most of the time.

But I hadn't written anything in two years. At least, no more than a line or two of my own fragmented thoughts. And I hadn't posted anything on my blog in as long as that, either.

But earlier… I don't know. I had this… thing. The urge – the tingle in my fingertips and the swell of excitement in my stomach. Like, yes, I have something. Like, I have so many words but I can't move my pen fast enough to get them all down.

I had it – that feeling. And now... now it's gone again.

I let out a frustrated huff, staring so hard at my screen that a throb starts to form at my temples.

"Come on," I whisper to my fingers. "Come on."

But they remain stubborn. Hovering. Not touching down. Not creating anything.

When I was ten, I'd wanted to learn the piano. So my mum had paid for a teacher – a good one, at that – who told me on the first day of lessons that failure was not a word in her vocabulary. Two weeks later, she'd declared me the most musically challenged child in existence, and had left. A couple years after that, I'd wanted to learn ballet. It all went smoothly – well, in a shaky-smooth manner, anyway, but pretty much everyone had been shaky-smooth – the first few weeks up until week five, where I'd gotten a little too close to the person next to me and had stumbled and fell in such a way that I managed to break her arm. A year later, I tried my luck at ice-skating, and, well… the less said about that the better.

So I wasn't musical, or rhythmical, or graceful. I couldn't hold a note and I couldn't stand on my tip-toes or glide across the floor without hurting someone else or myself. My feet and ears may have failed me, but damnit, my hands, my words (on paper, at least) never did.

Or they hadn't.

Why hadn't I realised how much I'd missed it?

Frowning, I pull my hands away from the keyboard and swipe my finger across the mousepad instead. I pause the music and listen to the silence. The occasional sound of a car passing by, and the gentle hum of my laptop, are the only things that break the quiet.

I close my eyes and try to pull that feeling from my gut again, but it doesn't like being forced. Maybe that's why I'd forgotten: I'd lost it. That feeling. I hadn't remembered how exulting it had felt until it panged inside of me earlier – demanding.

What do you want? I ask it silently. I'll give it to you if you just let me –

My mobile chimes on the bed next to me, signalling a text, and I let out a surprised gasp, my hand flying to my chest. I roll my eyes at myself after a second and then pick it up, a smile alighting on my lips when I see who the message is from.

You'll never guess what I found.

I grin into my palm as I reply. What?

A bloody pillow shop.

I laugh out loud at that, but my phone vibrates again before I get the chance to respond.

I can't see any Northerners about… sod it, I'm sleeping here tonight. If I'm not with Jasper and Emmett next week, then I have wandered too far into the Land of Pillows, and am in need of reluctant rescuing.

Search party? I send back.

Nah, he replies. Just you.

Butterflies swirl in my stomach as I clutch the phone, my widened eyes re-reading those two words over and over again. Before I realise what's happening, a burst of heat blossoms in my stomach and travels upwards, warming my heart. My fingertips tremble, and when I touch my lips, I find them smiling and soft.

The ache dissipates from my temples, and then my phone is falling and it's not so quiet anymore.

No longer hovering, my fingers clatter across the keys.

–|*|–

.

.

*~ There's a message in the wire,
and I'm sending you this signal tonight ~*

.

A/N: :)

bab = casual term of endearment (like "love" or "hun")

buttercup syrup = just a kind of cough syrup (my mum's been buying this brand since before I was born. So there is no "cough syrup" there is only "buttercup syrup")

dogsbody = a person who is given menial tasks to do

bonfire night = the 5th of November, on which bonfires and fireworks are lit in memory of the Gunpowder Plot, traditionally including the burning of an effigy of Guy Fawkes

fortnight = two weeks

Hey guys! So sorry this chapter took so long to get here. I really don't have any excuses. I just had a very long, very unproductive summer (in which I did manage to go to Dubrovnik and see the real King's Landing... so maybe not totally unproductive. ;))

Anyways. Hope you're all well and that you liked this chapter. I know this story has been a bit slow-going so far, so I hope you didn't mind the time jump - just to pick up the pace a bit. Edward will be back in Brum... maybe not next chapter, but hopefully the one after that. So, yeah. More soon!

Thank you for reading. :)