The Secret of Us

𝐗𝐈𝐕

Mason felt like the walls of Figure Eight were closing in on him. After everything that had happened the night before, the last place he wanted to be was anywhere near Figure Eight. So, he decided to let Ward know he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be skipping work. He sent the message fast, sighing tiredly and throwing his phone to the side. He would show up tomorrow; today he needed distance.

As much as he wanted to take the day to rest, Mason knew he couldn't afford it. With his father's paycheck going straight to booze, someone had to keep everything afloat. Today, that someone was Mason—and Hayward's was calling his name. He picked himself up, threw on a long-sleeved shirt to cover the bruises, which were now fading into shades of green and yellow, and headed over to Heyward's. When he arrived, Heyward eyed him skeptically, eyebrows arching at the sight of Mason's disheveled appearance.

"You look like you got in a fight with a brick wall, boy," Heyward said as Mason approached him, asking for a shift.

Mason tried to shrug it off, but this time Heyward wasn't having it. He grabbed Mason's chin, tilting his head from side to side, inspecting the bruises that marred his face, new ones had formed from the fight last night.

"Boy, if you don't take care of yourself..." Heyward's voice trailed off, pity evident in his eyes.

Mason put in a feeble smile. "I'm good, Heyward." he nonchalantly said, groaning slightly as Heyward gave him a pointed look.

Heyward sighed deeply, shaking his head. "You Maybank boys. Tough as nails. I'll give you that, but you never learn. Alright, you can work on the register today. Lord knows you need to take it easy." He said, his eyes softening as he patted Masons' shoulder. "You got a good heart, Mason. Don't let anybody dim your light. But if I see one more bruise on you, I'm getting involved. You hear me? I'm not afraid to ground you If I have to."

Mason felt the sentiment hit him hard, but he smaller the emotions away, giving Heyward a small nod. "Rodger that, Heyward."

He took his place at the register, and for once, it felt like the chaos seemed to settle down. He unwinded, eating some sweets he had purchased while waiting for customers to come in. It wasn't much, but it was something—a little slice of peace amid a storm.

As the hours passed, Mason found some sort of solace in the routine of the work. The smell of fish, the sound of the register clicking, the hum of customers coming and going—it was a gun that let him forget everything else. He wasn't a Maybank for those few hours; he was not running for the chaos in Figure Eight. He was simply Mason, doing his job, figuring out how to keep moving forward.

Mason's peace of mind was broken midday by a familiar group. Walking into the store, the Pogues—Kie, Pope, JJ—the bell above the door jingling as they entered. Their familiar laughter filled the small space, a ray of warmth amid the ordinary day.

"What are y'all doing here?" Mason asked, leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.

"We came to see that pretty face of yours," JJ shot back, smiling.

"And get snacks," Kie added, her eyes scanning the shelves. There was something weird about the way she eyed Mason for a second. Almost as if she was biting her tongue, wanting to ask a billion questions but she knew this wasn't the time or place.

Pope walked over to Mason; his face had been bruised due to the fight with Topper. He gave a small, sheepish smile. "Wanted to talk, too."

Mason raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything JJ jumped in. "So, Pope, what was the thought process last night? Using your head?" he asked, barely containing his laughter.