#stephenie meyer

You lay in the oversized bed, staring at the ceiling as another wave of nausea and ache rolled through you. Sleep had been teasing you for hours: close enough to taste, but every time you drifted, your body yanked you back with a spike of discomfort. The blanket felt too heavy; the unnaturally quiet hum of the house (even though you were used to it) only amplified the pounding and swirling thoughts in your head. You tried to tune into Bella’s soft breathing, but nothing stopped the noise of discomfort tonight. You’d just have to get up.

With a soft sigh, you slipped out from beside Bella (with whom you often shared a bed, since you were the only two who slept in the house), careful not to wake her. Your bare feet padded across the cool, wooden floorboards as you made your way downstairs, one hand trailing the banister for balance. The house was dark and still, but you knew better than to think you were truly alone. Halfway down, you heard the faint rustle of movement— or rather, you felt a presence. Jasper appeared at the bottom of the stairs, golden eyes glowing softly in the low light.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked gently, a wave of calm already easing in as he felt his way around the edges of your pain. You shook your head, leaning into him when he offered his arm. “Just… feel like shit tonight,” you scoffed. “What’s new.”

Before Jasper could reply, Carlisle stepped out from the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand and a small pill in the other. “Edward mentioned you were feeling unwell,” he said, eyebrows furrowed with that calm and earnest concern that years’ of bedside manner had taught him. “We weren’t sure when you’d be down, but Alice didn’t think you’d fall asleep.” He swept across the room— something you were mostly used to, but still found slightly unnerving when Carlisle or Esme did it, being the most ‘human’ of the bunch— and pressed the glass into your hands. Slipping the oil into your hands with a firm look, his cool fingers brushed your forehead to check for fever. He hummed in approval, satisfied you weren’t too sick.

As you swallowed the painkiller, Esme emerged from the living room looking mildly concerned, and wrapped a soft throw around your shoulders. “Come sit with us,” she murmured, guiding you toward the wide couch, rubbing soothing circles on your back. Alice was already there, knees pulled to her chest, patting the spot between her and Rosalie, who was playing absentmindedly with her hair— until you stepped in, and her face lit up with adoration.

As you entered, you felt a whoosh of air pass you: Emmett had shot down the stairs with a mountain of pillows from his own bed (rarely used, unless you fell asleep in there), and began arranging them with surprising delicacy on the sofa between the girls. “Can’t have our Princess uncomfortable,” he teased, though his eyes were full of love as he helped you settle. Usually, he’d sweep you off your feet and place you where he wished, but tonight he just hovered nearby, worried you were too delicate for rough housing.

Edward drifted in last: you guessed he had already sensed the specific flavor of your discomfort. “You to blame for all this?” You smiled at him, gesturing to the scene of absolute devotion before you: every member of the Cullen coven strewn across the living room with various items to help you through tonight. “Sorry. You know I can’t help myself,” he smiled coyly. You didn’t reply: you knew he could hear your gratitude without you saying it aloud.