Meaningful Artifacts [Edward/Jacob]

twenty.

He's waiting to be forgiven. 

Jacob can practically smell Edward's guilt rolling off of him in waves as he watches Jacob's every move. He's praying he'll turn around and hopefully helplessly fall into his arms like he did the night before.

It was easy to feel like everything wasn't a big deal when you were the one manipulating, lying. 

Jacob's willing to let him stew in it. Let him feel as shit as Jacob's felt for a least a fraction of the time. Instead of acknowledging the pouting behind him, he coops himself up at his desk and eats his lunch. He mindlessly stares at some show where some girl and guy pretend to hate each other before falling in bed together. He doesn't even know if there's an actual plot underneath the flirting because he's too busy staring at the texts Mike keeps shooting his way. 

But forreal, you good?

He glances at the text, completely missing whatever hilarious moment the onscreen couple has.

Like that wasn't something super serious was it? 

Jacob looks at his phone again and mentally pretends to care that he misses Dana and Tom or Derrick and Tina's first kiss.

Jacob's known Mike long enough to understand what the man so desperately wants to know. He'd heard enough and he wants to know if that's it, if they're done. 'Cause that's how Jacob moved now, he didn't leave a lot of room for error. 

I'm fine. 

It's all Jacob bothers with before turning back to his laptop to see Tracey slapping Dan. The cold food isn't great but it's better than his selection of entertainment. He eventually zones out, eyes on the computer screen, but his mind is on the shuffling in the back. 

Every move is grating against his nerves. 

He's expecting Edward to pretend to read one of his ancient tomes, but instead, he's curled up under the blankets like sleep would take him. He's probably come to the conclusion that if he just manages to outlast Jacob by being quiet longer, Jacob will eventually allow him to spew whatever nonsensical apology he's cooking up while he sulks.

He doesn't think what he's done is unforgivable. 

Jacob nudges his bowl away and watches Darla and Tony awkwardly bumble around each other for two seasons too long. 

You sure? Carter's?

Honestly, Mike had heard enough of the argument. None of the talks of immortality and vampirism had made it into the call, but he'd clearly heard most of the personal stuff. However, there was simply nothing to talk about that made an ounce of sense. All of it was fucked.  

Jacob eventually pauses his favorite sitcom...or whatever the fuck...and scoops up his half empty bowl. He heads down to the kitchen, ignoring the quiet stares he's getting along the way. He doesn't need any of it. What he needs is time to think. 

No. 

He plops down on the couch and pulls a blanket into his lap, eyes not leaving the TV as the beginning of whatever random game Seth had left in the console loads. He half-heartedly plays, but his mind is running back the last ten years as if he's seeing it from an outsider's perspective. Every touch, every kiss, every fond look, every declaration that he'd had to languish through framed differently.