We Are Young

We Are Young by MyLifeandHis
Summary: Destiny doesn't do home visits. I can sit and chit chat with Bella, flirting with her on my balcony all I want to, but am I actually going for it?


Um, so I made this banner because there wasn't one, and I'm weird like that. Oh well. I just hope the author doesn't think I'm a crazed stalker, or whatever.

So I read this story (all 8 chapters so far) in one sitting today. I know. Another WIP. What is wrong with me?! That's rhetorical. Don't answer it. Anyway, loved every second of it.

MyLifeandHis captures realism and puts it on paper, or rather, my computer screen. And I love her for it.

Edward is a young college student, trying to make ends meet on his own. His mother died when he was 12, and his uncle, who was his guardian, disappeared after he graduated high school. He's lonely, but he does enjoy watching Bella at his old high school from his seat at the bus stop (that's what the photo above reminded me of). He likes her, thinks she gorgeous, but has no clue about girls. So when she shows up downstairs below his balcony while he's hanging his jeans out to dry, he doesn't know what to say. And this comes out . . .

"Uh, thanks. My p-pants are wet. I mean, I didn't wet them. They're wet. It's laundry day. I don't even have clean underwear on. I mean, I'm not wearing underwear. Because it's laundry day. Shit."


And I completely fall head over heels for him.

He's a lit major and knows things about The Great Gatsby and helps Bella with her her essay and gah! I adore him. He's innocnet and aorable and so sweet to Bella. He truly cares about her.

Bella is quite the character too -- not your cliched bumbling, wide-eyed, virgin. She's lived life. She's a little wild and looking for someone to care for her (maybe), but trusts no one. So much so that it's tattooed on her skin -- which Edward gets to see in a daring game of I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Edward bares his tatoo too, which reads 'Go on and wonder' (a Faulkner quote).

And I do. I wonder so freaking much. Like when is this awesome story going to update?!

Now go start it! And tell her I sent you and give her some love. This fic is totally under appreciated. And I must give thanks to @whatsmynom for reccing it this morning on twitter while I was sick in bed.

Below is a slice of heaven from Chapter 6 . . .

"What are you working on?" I wipe my sweaty palms discreetly on the legs of my jeans, noticing too late that there's a stain on the left thigh.

"Umm, just a fucking assignment for class. It's pretty much do or die at this point in the game, and I'm realizing I screwed around too much. I have to get, like, a kickass grade on this paper, or I'm fucked."

I stare at her lips, trying to figure out how the word fuck is suddenly sexy to me, and she looks away. "You're acting weird again," she whispers.

"Sorry." I snap out of my trance. "Just trying to figure out how you got such a filthy mouth." I grin, trying to lighten the mood and look down, taking a drink of my soda. "So it's a paper on The Great Gatsby. Big deal. That's cake, right?"

Bella snorts. "Maybe for a genius like you." She pulls up her notebook, reviewing the last few sentences she's written and begins to cross one of them out immediately.

"Stop," I say and cover her hand with my own. "Can I take a look?"

"Sure."

I take the notebook and a Xeroxed sheet of paper that looks like it's been crumpled and then pressed out, reviewing the assignment and some of her writing. My literature-soaked brain latches on to the task, something easier than trying to make small talk, and I launch into a series of babble. "This is so easy. You can totally do this. You're spot on with this sentence, but here, let me find something he says in the book ... here, this paragraph. Expand on that part, and you're good." But then I realize Bella is staring at me like I've grown a second head, so I shut up and hand the books back to her. "Sorry. You didn't ask for help."

"No, it's not that. I mean, you're so good at this shit. How the hell do you remember reading this?"

I flush but force myself to hold her gaze. "I'm a Literature major. I kind of want to teach, like, this exact thing." We both grin at each other. I'm assessing the bizarreness of the situation, and she's likely assessing my weirdness level at the moment. "Anyway, if you want help, I'm your guy."

"Yes! Please. I mean, it's not every fucking day you run into a Literature major when you're having literature troubles." She laughs for a second, and then I realize she's nervous.

Wanting more than anything to put her at ease, I gently take the notebook from her hands yet again and begin to explain how The Great Gatsby has a recurring theme of honesty and trust issues.

"So look, Gatsby himself says 'I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known', but the entire story is about how he basically fabricates a life that isn't his with things that aren't his, possessions that aren't his ... all to get the girl. He truly believes he's an honest person, but who can actually trust him? No one. So, if we read this book and only this book, are we to assume that humans are inherently dishonest? I would say yes. It's my personal opinion, but that's how I feel. The way Fitzgerald portrays the human race is ... I don't know. It's almost disturbing how disreputable all of his characters are. Does that make sense?"

I look over at Bella, and she's staring at me pretty much how I've been staring at her for the past few years. It's not uncomfortable. It feels good, and I bask in her gaze while she blinks a few times before responding.

"Yeah, it makes total fucking sense. I'm sure he talked about all that in class. But he probably didn't explain it as well as you just did. Thanks. I mean it, Edward. I was panicking over this shit before you came out here, and now I think I can fucking do this. Thank you."

Her eyes are still so intent I have to look away for a second, and I take a deep breath. "Anytime," I say, meeting her gaze again. "I'm always around."

We work side by side on her essay for the next few hours until she's come up with something she's pretty sure she can go home and type out before turning it in tomorrow. And then ... we just sit there together on my fire escape. She watches the moon come out while I watch its reflection glint off her long, dark hair, and I talk about books I'm currently reading before she tries to explain the latest cool songs to me.

Bella loves music like I love to read. She says she can get lost in a song, the rhythm and lyrics swallowing her whole wherever she sits. I think I could get lost in Bella.