PIANO LULLABY - EDWARD CULLEN
summary: edward plays a soft piano piece to soothe you, creating a peaceful, tender night together.
The house was silent, save for the soft rustle of pages from the book you’d abandoned in your lap. Outside, the night in Forks was a velvet-black, rain drizzling against the windows like tiny, endless applause. You should have been asleep hours ago, but sleep didn’t come easily when Edward was nearby—his presence was too magnetic, too awake, and somehow comforting all at once.
You heard the first note before you saw him. A low, deliberate tone that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
“Edward?” you called softly, standing, toes curling on the rug. The sound of his movements was impossibly quiet.
“I thought you might like some music,” he said, voice carrying that faint lilt of amusement that always made your chest tighten. His golden-brown eyes caught the lamplight as he turned, long fingers brushing the keys of the grand piano with ease.
You moved closer, drawn by the sound, and he glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tilting into that half-smile you knew so well. “Come here.”
The room filled with notes—soft, flowing, tender, a lullaby that wasn’t meant for anyone else but you. Every keystroke seemed to fold into the shadows and warm the space around you. You perched on the piano bench beside him, your hand brushing his as he played. He didn’t flinch. His eyes softened.
“You’re awake too late,” he murmured, though his voice had the weight of affection rather than scolding.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, leaning your head slightly against his shoulder. “It’s… peaceful, hearing you play.”
Edward’s hand moved, guiding yours to a single key. “Then stay,” he said simply. “Stay until you feel like sleep. I’ll keep you company.”
The notes continued, weaving around your quiet laughter as you attempted a clumsy chord under his careful guidance. He chuckled quietly, a sound that made your heart catch, and you realized that in all the years he’d lived, this—this shared, gentle moment—was one of the rarest and most human.
He paused, resting his hand over yours. “You know,” he whispered, voice barely above the music’s hum, “I could do this forever. Just play and listen, and watch you smile.”
You tilted your head, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Forever is… a long time, Edward.”
“Not long enough,” he replied.
You let the words sink in, the warmth of him surrounding you, the music filling the corners of the room. Outside, the rain kept falling, endless and rhythmic, and inside, you realized that some nights, some melodies, and some people were worth staying awake for.
His hand found yours again, fingers entwined as the last notes lingered in the air. He leaned close, lips brushing your temple. “Sleep now,” he murmured. “I’ll keep playing in your dreams.”
And for the first time in hours, you felt the pull of rest. With Edward’s music echoing softly in your ears, you let your eyes close, knowing that the world—no matter how dark or endless—was tenderly held in his care.
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