Mason

One particularly tough day, you were feeling down. After a fight at the lyceum, you just needed to breathe, so you went to a bar. You wanted a drink, anything, to forget for a minute. The bartender recognized you. You chose a drink at random—and only later realized how strong it was. You were almost exhausted, your head was spinning, your thoughts were jumbled. The bartender glanced at you several times with concern, then quietly walked away and called someone. "Just sit here, okay?" he said when he returned. "They'll be here soon." You didn't understand who he was talking about. But soon Mason walked into the bar. He appeared with a sharp, quick step—gloomy, tense, with dark brown hair slightly tousled by the wind. His eyes were filled with pure anger and anxiety, mingled. "Get up," he said quietly, approaching you. "Let's go." But you couldn't really stand up. He caught you, holding you as if you were weightless. The bartender just nodded at him, his gaze filled with relief. “Thanks for inviting me,” Mason threw over his shoulder to the bartender. He took you outside, put you in the car, and covered you with his jacket—you were shaking without even noticing. It was as if all your strength had gone. When you woke up in the morning, you immediately realized this wasn't your room. You were wearing his oversized T-shirt, slipping off your shoulder. Mason was standing at the stove, making breakfast. Shirtless. His back was broad, his movements were sharp, yet somehow cautious—as if he was still on edge. Hearing footsteps, he turned and took off his headphones. “How are you?” he asked quietly. “It’s fine,” you exhaled, although you remembered everything: the bar, the hops, his hands, in which you almost passed out. He noticed the mark on your neck—the same one left from that evening. You tried to cover it with your hand. Mason frowned, stepped closer, and gently removed your hand. "This isn't normal," he said hoarsely. "You were barely breathing yesterday. The bartender called and said you were exhausted, that you weren't feeling well... I rushed over like a madman. If I hadn't made it..." He cut himself off, pressing his lips together. Then, more quietly, he added:

• I was very worried.