Ghost of Ourselves (Twilight X Reader)

°Limrence°

A state of being infatuated with another person

The afternoon sun shifts through the trees as we talk, creating moving patterns across the wildflowers between us. Laurent sits with an unnatural stillness that should be unsettling but somehow isn't, his red eyes intent on my face as I share pieces of my poetry.

"There's a rawness to your words," he observes, his voice like warm velvet. "You write as someone who has seen the darker sides of life."

Something about his gentle observation, the lack of pity in his tone, makes the words start spilling out. "I suppose I have," I say, fingers absently tracing the spiral binding of my journal. "Life hasn't exactly been... stable."

"Tell me," he encourages softly, and for some reason, I do.

"My mother," I begin, watching a butterfly dance between the flowers rather than meeting his gaze, "she's... she's like a storm. Beautiful sometimes, but destructive. Unpredictable. One moment she'd be planning these grand adventures, telling me how we were going to travel the world together, and the next..." I pause, unconsciously rubbing my arm where a scar hides beneath my sleeve.

Laurent notices the gesture, a low sound like a growl building in his throat before he quickly suppresses it.

"The smallest things would set her off," I continue. "A dish left in the sink, a light left on, sometimes just the way I looked at her. She'd call it discipline, but..." I shake my head. "That's not what it was."

"Non, it wasn't," Laurent agrees, his French accent thickening with emotion.

"We moved around a lot. Or rather, we got evicted a lot. She'd get these ideas about starting businesses, invest every penny we had, and then..." I pluck a violet, twirling it between my fingers. "I got good at sleeping in cars, at finding the safest spots in homeless shelters. At being invisible when I needed to be."

[Laurent's POV]
The monster in me stirs at the thought of anyone hurting her, a protective rage I haven't felt in centuries burning through my veins. Her scent still calls to me-sweet, intoxicating-but the thought of causing her more pain is suddenly unbearable.

[Protagonist's POV]
"But now..." A genuine smile breaks through as I think about my new life. "My aunt's house is like something from a dream. She gave me this beautiful room with a round bed and stained glass windows. Everything about it feels magical, safe. She even painted the walls this perfect shade of navy blue, got me my own bathroom..." I laugh softly. "It probably sounds silly, being so excited about a bathroom."

"It doesn't," Laurent says quietly. "Simple luxuries mean more to those who've lived without them."

"Exactly! And she's just... she sees me, you know? Really sees me. Not as a burden or a problem to solve, but as a person." I pause, then add more softly, "School's different too. I mean, there are some strange dynamics to navigate, some... intense personalities, but it feels like a fresh start."

"You deserve that," Laurent says, his voice carrying a weight of years I don't quite understand. "A fresh start. Safety. Beauty."

The sun has shifted significantly, though I've lost all track of time. We've moved from poetry to philosophy, from past pains to future hopes. Laurent listens with an intensity that should be uncomfortable but instead feels like being truly heard for the first time in a while.

"It's strange," I say, lying back among the flowers again. "I've never told anyone all of this. Not even my aunt knows everything. But here I am, spilling my life story to a mysterious stranger."

"Perhaps," Laurent suggests, his lips curving into a slight smile, "sometimes it's easier to share our depths with those who are separate from our daily lives. No expectations, no judgments, just... understanding."