Twilight Fic: the time i rewrote you and i
the time i rewrote you and i
sam is the one that sighs. inevitably, he tries to forgive himself according to the yearly calendars. that twilight thing. sam/leah. sam/emily. scattered spoilers. 1342 words, pg.
note: happy birthday to anythingbutgrey! you are the sweetest, most charming person that i’ve had the pleasure of getting to know. oh, and, we have a cupcake date.
-
and i kissed a girl with a broken jaw
bright eyes - the calendar hung itself
It’s just the two of them.
When Jacob disappears, Seth ducks and he’s just angry, angry, angry as Emily looks away and none them, none them reassure him that it’s okay and they understand what it means.
In theory, the story is the same: Jacob has no interest in sharing the things between him and the outside, the way people fall and love and then are disappointed. He wears his anger wisely, the swell of his mouth still convincing him that maybe, just maybe, there might be a change.
Sam is the one that sighs.
Packs stay together and it’s more than just semantics; he’s broken this rule before, on his own and about the right way. His causalities come and go and he still has to look Leah in the eye.
But this is dangerous, Jacob is dangerous, and there are always rules and traditions to be followed.
“I’ll find him,” he snarls.
Leah frowns. “I’ll go with you.”
-
He doesn’t ask how she knows where they’re going, listening because he’s more afraid of her answers than the others. It’s left. It’s right. It’s the highway and then the city and already, now, he’s imagining her as before: sweethearts and running away.
Sam bites his tongue. “Are we close?”
But there’s no answer from her. The car swims in the parking lot and she lets him get lost in his thoughts - all he can think is jacob, stupid kid, and my fault; it starts somewhere between tradition and history, the missing moments, and what’s few, right in between.
Sam keeps it short. The guilt comes and goes and Leah, if anything, is the only one that has the sense of patience to follow him when he’s like this. She knows him best, that remains unspoken, and he’s selfish enough to keep this tight to himself.
“We’ll find him,” she murmurs, shrugging.
The truck slams shut and he can hear the music through the cracks in the city. The club is here and home, far enough for Jacob to be Jacob and mourn for string of better days. He doesn’t say anything, but follows her. It seems like she’s been here before: her shoulders are loose, her hair smears against her throat, and he can taste the brush of excitement as she starts to hum.
He doesn’t try to say stop either.
Louder and louder, they pass to the entrance and Leah, in hands, motions for him to follow through. His curiosity is jealous and he follows her weaving, in and out, as his eyes become more comfortable. It’s too loud, it’s too loud, and everybody is playing hips and thighs, rolling just to be a little closer together. He finds himself dragging closer too, almost again her, through the maze of bodies as they look for the younger boy. Leah frowns. He frowns - there’s just nothing to see.
“Where is he?” - Sam yells into her ear.
There’s a filter of something across her mouth and she has to press closer to him, just to say something back. He thinks he hears the accusation he isn’t me and her hand swallows around his arm, her nails pressing over the sleeve of his jacket. He can’t remember the last time they’ve been this close, this long, and it’s too much, it’s just too much.
His throat burns. “I know.”
“Then stop.” - she says it and it’s not like she’s Emily. Amusement bridges between them and it’s almost cruel because Leah remembers what he’s been trying to forget and there’s more than bits of advantages here and there.
He sighs and nods and there are afterthoughts as she pulls back, her hand still wrapped around his arm. They were never here as kids. He wrote secrets behind her and broke her heart. I believed you, she sings in whiskey from time to time, soft and easy, as if she knows it’ll break him to listen. But he does and maybe, maybe this is why they’re here and he’s panicking because Jacob is just a kid and he doesn’t understand; he wants to fight the right way from someone else, just prove that he has it in him. It makes no sense and they do tell him that he’s fine.
Sam tugs her forward.
“It’s my responsibility,” his mouth moves over her ear. He can taste her skin and imagines how her lips used to part - the flush, there was a flush too - “it’s my responsibility to keep us straight.”
Leah almost laughs. They find Jacob in between the smoke, sighing into the neck of a pretty brunette.
-
Sunday morning is already grinning against the windows of her place.
Leah’s idea is something about keeping him close to her - not because of you, her reassurances sigh. Jacob is in murmurs and anyway, Sam is distracted by the memory of regrets and misunderstandings.
He doesn’t follow them to the bathroom.
Lingering, the small living room is open to him. There are pictures, scattered, and there’s Harry as the ghost just because Leah and Seth can only do so much and blame themselves. It’s what killed her, he needs to think because it’s so much easier than resting the blame over his shoulders. But even with that, he doesn’t know what to say to her and Seth, Seth is more than happy stay over and in front of his sister like things should be.
“He’ll be fine in the morning.”
She’s standing against the arch of the hallway, watching him as he passes through the room. Her eyes are dark, her lips are flushed, and she’s still wild, still beautiful, and still never his to call. His hands are glued to his pockets and he’s pulling through a hole in the fabric - they’re just lucky jeans or something like that.
“Are you - ” he’s hesitant because he doesn’t know what he wants to say, if there’s anything to say at all to her. Jacob is another matter and it’s been long enough for Sam to know how to be a second dad and lie properly.
She shakes her head. “Don’t. I’ll talk to him.”
There are scratches coming from the bathroom, a moan and then another one unwinding and all Leah’s wry smile says is been there and you don’t need to know. Instead, he’s closer and his ears ringing from the music earlier. The tips of his fingers smell like smoke and he’s pouring over her, his mouth just a little dry. His chest is tight and his hand starts to lift, his thumb writing along her jaw. I’m sorry, he tries to say, I’m sorry.
“Don’t be stupid,” she hisses. And still, he thinks about kissing her and kissing her again; it’s about getting her out of his system and all he wants to do, all her wants her to understand is that he wants to live in peace.
Don’t you remember? Sam’s a coward too.
Instead, he hears Jacob stir louder in the bathroom. Down the hall, he remembers, and Leah takes the distraction first as he starts to follow.
The boy is really a boy and Sam stick to doors, watching as Leah kneels over the tile and next to him. She says shh and it’s okay like she’s facing habits, her fingers smearing over Jacob’s forehead as rests against the toilet.
“Get me some water.”
Sam’s absent. “Water?”
“I wasn’t asking,” she snaps.
He wonders if she means it.
-
At home, Emily’s eyes are closed.
The murmur is nothing more than habit, her mouth slow between a sigh and understanding. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s straight,” he lies.
He tries to remember why.
-
In the morning, it’s still his fault.
She’s at the end of the table, between Seth and Jacob, with her eyes closed and her hand over the mouth of her coffee mug. Leah’s fingers are too long or maybe, just maybe, it’s only the way the sun hits.
“We need to be more careful,” he tells them all.
sam is the one that sighs. inevitably, he tries to forgive himself according to the yearly calendars. that twilight thing. sam/leah. sam/emily. scattered spoilers. 1342 words, pg.
note: happy birthday to anythingbutgrey! you are the sweetest, most charming person that i’ve had the pleasure of getting to know. oh, and, we have a cupcake date.
-
and i kissed a girl with a broken jaw
bright eyes - the calendar hung itself
It’s just the two of them.
When Jacob disappears, Seth ducks and he’s just angry, angry, angry as Emily looks away and none them, none them reassure him that it’s okay and they understand what it means.
In theory, the story is the same: Jacob has no interest in sharing the things between him and the outside, the way people fall and love and then are disappointed. He wears his anger wisely, the swell of his mouth still convincing him that maybe, just maybe, there might be a change.
Sam is the one that sighs.
Packs stay together and it’s more than just semantics; he’s broken this rule before, on his own and about the right way. His causalities come and go and he still has to look Leah in the eye.
But this is dangerous, Jacob is dangerous, and there are always rules and traditions to be followed.
“I’ll find him,” he snarls.
Leah frowns. “I’ll go with you.”
-
He doesn’t ask how she knows where they’re going, listening because he’s more afraid of her answers than the others. It’s left. It’s right. It’s the highway and then the city and already, now, he’s imagining her as before: sweethearts and running away.
Sam bites his tongue. “Are we close?”
But there’s no answer from her. The car swims in the parking lot and she lets him get lost in his thoughts - all he can think is jacob, stupid kid, and my fault; it starts somewhere between tradition and history, the missing moments, and what’s few, right in between.
Sam keeps it short. The guilt comes and goes and Leah, if anything, is the only one that has the sense of patience to follow him when he’s like this. She knows him best, that remains unspoken, and he’s selfish enough to keep this tight to himself.
“We’ll find him,” she murmurs, shrugging.
The truck slams shut and he can hear the music through the cracks in the city. The club is here and home, far enough for Jacob to be Jacob and mourn for string of better days. He doesn’t say anything, but follows her. It seems like she’s been here before: her shoulders are loose, her hair smears against her throat, and he can taste the brush of excitement as she starts to hum.
He doesn’t try to say stop either.
Louder and louder, they pass to the entrance and Leah, in hands, motions for him to follow through. His curiosity is jealous and he follows her weaving, in and out, as his eyes become more comfortable. It’s too loud, it’s too loud, and everybody is playing hips and thighs, rolling just to be a little closer together. He finds himself dragging closer too, almost again her, through the maze of bodies as they look for the younger boy. Leah frowns. He frowns - there’s just nothing to see.
“Where is he?” - Sam yells into her ear.
There’s a filter of something across her mouth and she has to press closer to him, just to say something back. He thinks he hears the accusation he isn’t me and her hand swallows around his arm, her nails pressing over the sleeve of his jacket. He can’t remember the last time they’ve been this close, this long, and it’s too much, it’s just too much.
His throat burns. “I know.”
“Then stop.” - she says it and it’s not like she’s Emily. Amusement bridges between them and it’s almost cruel because Leah remembers what he’s been trying to forget and there’s more than bits of advantages here and there.
He sighs and nods and there are afterthoughts as she pulls back, her hand still wrapped around his arm. They were never here as kids. He wrote secrets behind her and broke her heart. I believed you, she sings in whiskey from time to time, soft and easy, as if she knows it’ll break him to listen. But he does and maybe, maybe this is why they’re here and he’s panicking because Jacob is just a kid and he doesn’t understand; he wants to fight the right way from someone else, just prove that he has it in him. It makes no sense and they do tell him that he’s fine.
Sam tugs her forward.
“It’s my responsibility,” his mouth moves over her ear. He can taste her skin and imagines how her lips used to part - the flush, there was a flush too - “it’s my responsibility to keep us straight.”
Leah almost laughs. They find Jacob in between the smoke, sighing into the neck of a pretty brunette.
-
Sunday morning is already grinning against the windows of her place.
Leah’s idea is something about keeping him close to her - not because of you, her reassurances sigh. Jacob is in murmurs and anyway, Sam is distracted by the memory of regrets and misunderstandings.
He doesn’t follow them to the bathroom.
Lingering, the small living room is open to him. There are pictures, scattered, and there’s Harry as the ghost just because Leah and Seth can only do so much and blame themselves. It’s what killed her, he needs to think because it’s so much easier than resting the blame over his shoulders. But even with that, he doesn’t know what to say to her and Seth, Seth is more than happy stay over and in front of his sister like things should be.
“He’ll be fine in the morning.”
She’s standing against the arch of the hallway, watching him as he passes through the room. Her eyes are dark, her lips are flushed, and she’s still wild, still beautiful, and still never his to call. His hands are glued to his pockets and he’s pulling through a hole in the fabric - they’re just lucky jeans or something like that.
“Are you - ” he’s hesitant because he doesn’t know what he wants to say, if there’s anything to say at all to her. Jacob is another matter and it’s been long enough for Sam to know how to be a second dad and lie properly.
She shakes her head. “Don’t. I’ll talk to him.”
There are scratches coming from the bathroom, a moan and then another one unwinding and all Leah’s wry smile says is been there and you don’t need to know. Instead, he’s closer and his ears ringing from the music earlier. The tips of his fingers smell like smoke and he’s pouring over her, his mouth just a little dry. His chest is tight and his hand starts to lift, his thumb writing along her jaw. I’m sorry, he tries to say, I’m sorry.
“Don’t be stupid,” she hisses. And still, he thinks about kissing her and kissing her again; it’s about getting her out of his system and all he wants to do, all her wants her to understand is that he wants to live in peace.
Don’t you remember? Sam’s a coward too.
Instead, he hears Jacob stir louder in the bathroom. Down the hall, he remembers, and Leah takes the distraction first as he starts to follow.
The boy is really a boy and Sam stick to doors, watching as Leah kneels over the tile and next to him. She says shh and it’s okay like she’s facing habits, her fingers smearing over Jacob’s forehead as rests against the toilet.
“Get me some water.”
Sam’s absent. “Water?”
“I wasn’t asking,” she snaps.
He wonders if she means it.
-
At home, Emily’s eyes are closed.
The murmur is nothing more than habit, her mouth slow between a sigh and understanding. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s straight,” he lies.
He tries to remember why.
-
In the morning, it’s still his fault.
She’s at the end of the table, between Seth and Jacob, with her eyes closed and her hand over the mouth of her coffee mug. Leah’s fingers are too long or maybe, just maybe, it’s only the way the sun hits.
“We need to be more careful,” he tells them all.