Secrets (BxB) ✅

8: when shit hits the fan

A/N: sorry for the previous cliffhanger...and for taking so long for this chapter, it was supposed to be published the day after to make the cliffhanger more bearable but schoolwork caught up with me and I was unable to finish writing the rest of this chapter... Anyhoo, here's the rest - continuing straight on from the previous chapter 😊

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Mitch cont.

It was the last person I wanted to see. The last person I wanted to have witness me doing anything with a boy, especially Mason. I thought I was going to faint. I felt like dying. I wanted to brush my teeth, rub off any traces of Mason. But there was no point. He'd seen me. He'd seen everything. He'd seen me let Mason kiss me. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. It made me feel sick.

I stood there, frozen, too weak and shocked to move, still leaning against the lockers. Zedd faced off Mason who he'd pulled roughly off me, and who didn't nearly look scared enough in my opinion. Zedd's fists were clenched by his sides, his whole body taut with tension and nearly shaking with barely suppressed...anger? I get that he's a supposed homophobe but his anger seemed disproportionate. His jaw was clenching and unclenching and his nostrils flared. He looked like a ticking bomb. And Mason just stood there casually, hands in pockets, completely relaxed. He even had a slight smirk. As if he knew something neither Zedd or I knew.

"Someone's jealous," he flicked his eyes over to me and it was what pushed Zedd over the edge.

You could practically see his control snap and suddenly Mason was doubling over in pain, hands clasped to his stomach. The growing crowd inhaled sharply. We weren't allowed to fight on school grounds. And they all knew Zedd's reputation.

Zedd hadn't moved since he'd thrown the uppercut into Mason's stomach. His fists and jaw still clenched, he glared at the top of Mason's blond head and waited for him to straighten up. His body was still as taut as a drawn bow, and he'd still not looked at me. I should be glad, since I'd wanted to initially disappear into the ground, but now I was just hurt. Mason's jaw was clenched and he was breathing deeply through his nose in an effort to deal with the pain, his hands cradling his stomach. I knew I was a coward for not stepping in. The one thing that made me feel better was the knowledge of Mason's very well-defined abs. Zedd's punch wouldn't have caused any permanent damage.

After a minute, the whispering crowd stilled as Mason slowly straightened up and faced Zedd once more. I wanted him to turn away, to leave the scene, to not give Zedd another chance to hit him. Obviously, he didn't. He was as stubborn as Zedd it seemed. Bravely looking Zedd straight in the eye, he poked the bear.

"It looks like it's healing," he trailed his fingers over Zedd's cheekbone which could have been interpreted as an affectionate move if it was not for the slight pressure which made Zedd flinch in apparent pain, remnants of his bruise.

Or maybe he'd flinched because Mason was a boy, and it was gay to stroke another man's face. Either way, once again Zedd's hand swung too fast for anybody to get in between, for Mason to have the slightest chance of blocking his face. There was a resounding crack as Zedd's fist slammed into Mason's face and sent him careening back into the lockers.

"Don't touch me you fag," Zedd spat at Mason, his body coiled and ready for a response.

I could see Zedd's left hand by his side, shaking slightly, before he clenched it in a fist. Maybe he wasn't as in control of the situation than I thought. When he realised that Mason was still leaning against the lockers and holding his face in his hand, he scoffed and spun around. He stalked off, the crowd immediately clearing a path for him as people darted away in fear. As soon as he disappeared around the corner, the crowd surged forward to come to Mason's help and look after him. Just before he disappeared in a mass of concerned people, he mouthed to me "Go after him." I was a coward, I let Mason get beaten up in front of me when it was partially my fault. I might as well do one thing right and follow his directive.