desertion

184

LYDIA

The office felt unusually calm today, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space as Mason sat across from me, rifling through a stack of case files. For the first time in weeks, the air between us wasn't weighed down with tension. It felt... normal. Almost.

"You think this guy's dumb enough to keep receipts?" Mason asked, flipping a page and holding it up.

"If he was, we wouldn't still be here," I said dryly, jotting down notes in my notepad.

Mason leaned back in his chair, his face twisting in thought. "Maybe he's not dumb, just cocky. Thinks he's untouchable."

I looked up from my notes and quirked an eyebrow. "You've been watching too many crime dramas again."

He smirked, but his eyes stayed on the page. "Hey, sometimes they're onto something."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "Sure, Mason. Next time we're stumped, let's just call in a Hollywood writer to solve our case."

"Don't tempt me," he said, his tone teasing.

We worked in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythm of flipping pages and clicking pens filling the room. Mason glanced up occasionally, throwing a playful comment my way about how I was too focused or how my handwriting was impossible to read.

"You know, for someone who's so organized, your notes are a disaster," he said, leaning over to try and decipher my scribbles.

"Don't touch my notes," I said, swatting his hand away with my pen.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Alright, alright. But don't come crying to me when you can't read them later."

I shook my head, unable to stop the laugh that escaped me. Moments like these reminded me why I liked working with Mason, even when he drove me insane.

By the time we wrapped up at the office, it was already dark outside. Mason trailed behind me as we headed to my house, his bag slung over his shoulder. He'd been spending more and more time at my place lately, and though he hadn't outright said it, I knew it had a lot to do with his parents.

"Chris is gonna beat you at Mario Kart again," I teased as I unlocked the door.

"That's because he cheats," Mason shot back, stepping inside and dropping his bag by the door.

Chris's voice rang out from the living room. "I do not cheat!"

Mason chuckled and headed straight for the couch, flopping down next to Chris. "You use the shortcuts every single time. That's cheating."

"It's strategy," Chris corrected, handing Mason a controller.

I watched them banter as I leaned against the doorway, a warm feeling settling in my chest. Chris adored Mason, and the feeling seemed mutual. It was a side of Mason I didn't get to see often—relaxed, playful, and completely at ease.

"You joining us, Lyds?" Mason called over his shoulder.

I shook my head with a smile. "I'll let you two duke it out. Someone's gotta get dinner ready."

Later that night, after Chris had gone to bed, Mason and I found ourselves in the kitchen, the remnants of dinner scattered across the counter. He was leaning against the island, a glass of water in his hand as he watched me clean up.

"You don't have to stay so late, you know," I said, stacking plates in the dishwasher.

He shrugged, setting his glass down. "I don't mind. Besides, your house is way more peaceful than mine right now."

I glanced at him, my hands pausing mid-rinse. "Still rough with your parents?"

He nodded, his expression darkening slightly. "Yeah. They're arguing more since Dad has been spending more time with his "new family", and it's... exhausting. I'd rather be here."

I dried my hands and walked over to him, leaning against the counter next to him. "You know you can stay here if you need to."

He gave me a small smile, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. "Thanks, Lyds. I mean it."

We stood there for a moment, the quiet of the house wrapping around us like a blanket.

"You're good with Chris," I said after a while, breaking the silence.

Mason chuckled softly. "He's a good kid. Smarter than he gives himself credit for."

"He really likes you," I said, my voice softer now.

Mason glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah. And so do I."

He didn't say anything, but the way he looked at me—soft and steady—said more than words ever could.

Later, as midnight crept closer, Mason finally grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I should probably head out," he said, though he didn't make any move toward the door.

I smirked, leaning against the arm of the couch. "You say that every night, and yet you're still here when I wake up half the time."

He grinned. "What can I say? Your couch is comfy."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Drive safe, okay?"

He nodded, but before he left, he hesitated, turning back to look at me. "Hey, Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he said simply, his voice quiet but sincere.

"For what?"

"For letting me be here," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "For putting up with me."

I shook my head, a small laugh escaping me. "Anytime, Mason."

And with that, he was gone, leaving the house feeling just a little emptier. But as I locked the door and turned out the lights, I couldn't help but smile. For all the chaos and tension that came with Mason, he'd somehow become a part of my life I didn't want to lose.