mason thames imagines

too close

The hallway outside the rehearsal room was colder than it should've been. Maybe it was the AC, maybe it was the nerves I refused to admit I had, but I hugged my script against my chest like it could protect me from... whatever this was.

We had just finished a late practice run. Everyone else left early because the director said he was "losing his voice" (he wasn't), and our acting coach bailed halfway through (she always does). Which meant Mason and I were the last ones packing up, moving slowly, like neither of us was in a hurry to go.

I kept telling myself it was fine. We were coworkers. Friends, kinda. Or whatever lies I fed myself to stop overthinking why I suddenly cared so much about how I looked in this horrible fluorescent lighting.

He finished putting away the props first, but he didn't walk out. He just... hovered. Like he was pretending to fix his bag, when in reality he kept glancing over at me in these small, accidental-not-accidental ways.

I should've left.
But I didn't.

"It's freezing here," I muttered, rubbing my arms as we stepped into the hallway.

"You okay?" he asked, and the way his voice softened made me almost forget English for a second.

"I'm fine," I lied.

The hallway was empty, quiet in a way that felt too intimate for work. We walked side by side, close enough that our shoulders kept brushing. I blamed the narrow hallway. It was only partly the hallway.

When we reached the corner, I stopped to check my phone, pretending to answer a message that didn't exist. I needed a second. Or a breath.

He stopped too.

"You're always doing that," he said suddenly.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you look at your phone to escape."
His smirk made my stomach flip.

"I don't do that," I argued, stuffing the phone into my pocket.

"So you just love staring at your lock screen for fun?"

"no.. i'm checking the time.." i mumbled. I opened my mouth to argue again, but he stepped closer.

Too close. Like... definitely close enough to hear me perfectly, even though he leaned in anyway. His shoulder brushed mine. Then his arm. Then suddenly his face was impossibly near, like we were sharing the same tiny patch of air.

My brain shut down. Completely.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, pretending innocence.
"Hearing you better."

"You're already right there."

"I know."

He didn't move away.
And I didn't, either.

We weren't touching, but it felt like we were. His eyes held mine in a way that made my stomach twist, like he was searching for a reason to step back but couldn't find one.

My heart was ridiculous, loud enough I worried he could hear it. His gaze dropped for a split second to my lips, and that alone sent a shiver straight through me.

He noticed. 

"Cold?" he asked.

"No," I breathed.

We stayed like that, suspended, stupidly close, wrapped in a silence that felt heavier than words. It was intense, but not uncomfortable. More like... something waiting to happen.

Then the moment cracked.

A light above us flickered violently, buzzing like a dying insect. I jumped, and he instantly took a half-step back, blinking before laughing under his breath.

The tension snapped like someone popped a bubble.

"I swear this building hates us," I said, laughing too, mostly because the alternative was collapsing from whatever just happened.

"Or it's trying to ruin my moment," he joked.

"Your moment?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's what you call creeping into my personal space?"

He grinned. "It worked, didn't it?"

I felt heat rush to my face.
"Shut up."

We kept laughing, but after a second, his expression shifted, not dramatically, just enough that I felt it. The air changed; it warmed again, this time slower, deeper.

He looked at me for a moment too long.
Then his smile softened.

"You have..." He hesitated, then stepped closer, not as teasing, not as playful. "A thing."

"A thing?"

He reached up, fingers barely brushing my cheek as he tucked a strand of hair gently behind my ear.

I forgot how to breathe.

"There," he whispered. "Better."

The touch was small. Barely anything. But it pulled me right back into the tension we'd just laughed away, only this time it wasn't funny. It was something real, something we couldn't pretend wasn't happening.

He didn't pull his hand away entirely. His fingers lingered near my jaw, warm and careful.

"Mason..." I whispered, not even sure what I meant to say.

He swallowed, eyes dropping to my lips again, slow, intentional.
His voice was low when he spoke.

"Can I...?"

I didn't answer with words.
I just leaned in.

And he kissed me, soft at first, like he was afraid to break me, then deeper when I kissed him back. Everything I'd been trying to ignore hit me at once: the warmth of him, the quiet breath he let out, the way his hand moved to the back of my neck like he'd been waiting for this.

When we finally pulled away, my whole world felt warmer.

He pressed his forehead to mine, still catching his breath.

"So..." he murmured, smiling slightly. "Guess the hallway wasn't freezing after all."

I couldn't help laughing, breathless.