Edward didn’t cry. He felt emotions and feelings, but his body didn’t produce tears—not that it needed to; after nearly a century of being a vampire he’d gotten used to the heavy feelings of sadness and anger that sometimes sat in his cold chest, pressing silently on his unbeating and dead heart.

But then again, he was a vampire. He’d had almost a hundred years to learn how to deal with feelings and emotions. You hadn’t.

Edward knew you cried quite a bit. Very rarely around other people, but when you were in the safety of your own room you let all your strong walls down and let the tears fall like a dam. To Edward, it was the most beautiful dam he’d ever seen.

You always put on a smile and puffed out your chest, you always put all your negative feelings in a box deep inside your chest, hidden by the tallest of walls.

Sometimes it was just a mean nightmare or you couldn’t figure something out. But sometimes he didn’t know why you were crying. Those times it didn’t help reading your thoughts either, because there really weren’t any thoughts, just overwhelming feelings punching their way out. He knew that in those times, it was best to just let you know he was there by a soft, cold touch on your shoulder.

That’s why when he comes in through the window of your bedroom and he immediately hears the stuffy sniffle, he just gently sits down next you in your bed, hoping his presence would comfort you.

He wraps his cold strong arms around you and pulls you into his body, hoping to protect you from whatever was bothering you.