mercy. @jcmiefck - Tumblr Blog

“Being in love is a very strange thing. Your thoughts constantly drift towards this other person, no matter what you’re doing. You could be reaching for a glass in the cupboard or brushing your teeth or listening to someone tell a story, and your mind will just start drifting towards their face, their hair, the way they smell, wondering what they’ll wear, and what they’ll say the next time they see you. And on top of the constant dream state you’re in, your stomach feels like it’s connected to a bungee cord, and it bounces and bounces around for hours until it finally lodges itself next to your heart.”

— Pittacus Lore, The Power of Six

mason-conaway:

Mason shivers, pulling the tattered jacket further around his frame as if it will do anything to stop the cold, London air from whipping harshly against his face. It’s nothing new. He’s long since become accustomed to the sound of strangers’ feet slapping against the pavement as they step over him on their venture home from a long day of work. He’s used to the way people avert their eyes and shield their kids from view as if it could possibly protect them from the harsh realities of the world. He’s beyond familiar with the shake of his hands and the tremor in his voice as he fruitlessly begs for money. It’s not something he wants to have to do, but, these days, he doesn’t have much of a choice. He doesn’t have the power to turn back time and stop himself from going down the wrong path. He can’t take back the drinking, the smoking, the skipping school. More importantly, he can’t take back the heroin. If Mason had to pinpoint where everything truly went irrevocably wrong back to a specific time in his life, his first time trying heroin would be it. He’s an addict through and through, but heroin kickstarted his downfall into insanity. It’s an inexplicable feeling, the initial rush he gets when he shoots up that slowly fades into a delicious high. He’d trade anything to get to feel that way all the time. In fact, he did trade everything. He traded his family, his future, his life…and for what? A dirty sidewalk in the middle of London with no recollection of who he’s supposed to be? Mason’s barely drifted to sleep when he feels a presence stop in front of him. There used to be a time where he could sleep through anything. Unfortunately, with cops always nudging at him to move along, he’s not afforded that luxury anymore. He sniffs, rubbing at his cold, runny nose as he blearily opens his eyes, red from exhaustion. The first sight he’s met with is a pair of expensive boots. They don’t have a scuff on them, which is uncommon for the particular part of town he’s decided to take residence in. It’s not the scummiest of areas, but it’s certainly not the nicest either. Mason’s eyes travel up towards the owner of said boots, a look of surprise swimming into his blue irises when he settles upon a well-kempt looking man. The stranger can’t be much older than Mason himself, but if his appearance is anything to go by, he’s made remarkably better life decisions. Mason’s hand jerks subconsciously, the change in his paper cup to rattling around with the movement. It startles him out of his momentary stupor, reminding him of why he’s out here in the first place. “Please,” he begs, voice soft, but raspy nonetheless. “Could you spare a note or two? Haven’t had a proper meal in days,” he informs, and it’s not as far from the truth as Mason normally strays. @jcmiefck

It’s not often that Jamie walks past someone on the street and doesn’t stop to do what he can to help. Even if he has somewhere to be or something to do, it’s always been his philosophy that his time is best spent doing something that will make a difference in other’s lives. Maybe that’s why he likes performing so much. True to his mantra, when he spots someone curled up against the side of a building, dull tattered clothes a stark contrast to the bright graffiti behind them, he makes a beeline to approach them. It’s a sad sight when the stranger turns to look up at him, lips chapped and jaw dusted with stubble, unwashed hair framing a face that can’t be older than Jamie himself. It’s a particularly brisk day in London and even Jamie, wrapped in a cozy suede jacket, can feel the wind blow right through him when a gust comes rushing around the street corners. He’s privileged in not being able to imagine how this boy must feel. “You must be freezing,” he remarks, eyebrows knitting together in concern. His eyes flicker between the cup and his face, and judging by the hollow sound of the coins hitting the plastic, Jamie’s got a hunch that he doesn’t have enough in there for much more than a coffee. His years spent being charitable have taught him a lot about the people that haunt the city’s streets, and if he knows anything about them it’s that they’re much quicker to spend money on what they don’t need rather than what they do. Jamie would rather buy them what he knows they could use than throw change at them and trust them to not to spend it on whatever it is that put them on the streets in the irst place. He draws his coat tighter around himself, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun that’s filtering through the clouds overhead. “Let me take you to get something to eat, somewhere nice and warm,” he offers instead, and gestures over his shoulder to the diner across the street. “There’s a place just over there, I’ll buy you anything you want.”

mason-conaway:

The first thing Mason does when he gets back on land is ask for a mirror. He hasn’t seen himself in two years; he’s started to forget what he even looks like. They lead him to a bathroom for a bit of privacy and he shuts the door, wanting to be able to scrutinize himself without a curious audience. When he finally risks a peek, he stares at the image of himself blankly. He’s much skinnier than he remembers being, but oddly more defined. His skin is pulled taught over the hard-earned muscle he gained while doing manual labor on the island, but he’s smaller in stature for sure. He’s past the point of tan, skin browned in a way that makes the blue in his eyes look almost icey. His hair is a mess, tangled in a mop on his head, his usual stubble having grown out into a full beard. He lets out a small sigh, his gaze drifting to the make-shift set of clothes they’ve brought him. Reluctantly, Mason dresses, taking comfort in the way they completely mask his figure, and then makes his way back towards the room of people still waiting for him. Everyone is rightfully a little baffled by what’s happened. He guesses there isn’t really a standard protocol for dealing with someone who’s come back from the dead. He’s been gone for two years, for crying out loud. He, himself, is surprised to have made it back to civilian. They offer him a phone and Mason figures it’s the next best step, considering they’ve already provided him with plenty of food and water. Lucky for him, the boat that rescued him was a cruise ship. There was more than enough to go around. He takes the phone and thanks his lucky stars that by some miracle he remembers his mum’s number. He hopes she hasn’t changed it. He talks to her for the better part of an hour, an emotional conversation that he’s really in no condition to withstand at the moment, but before he knows it she’s making arrangements to fly over because he’s somewhere in the middle of Florida. Just as she’s about to hang up, Mason gets up the courage to ask what he’s been wanting to ask since he got her on the phone. To her credit, she’s only mildly hesitant to give up Jamie’s number. Still, Mason doesn’t want to think about what that means. Instead, he hangs up and dials the number without a second thought. It hasn’t occurred to him that his story might have already broken the news. It hasn’t occurred to him that Jamie might be on a flight right now or playing a show or, god forbid, in rehab. It most definitely hasn’t occurred to him that Jamie might not want to hear from him. He doesn’t have to worry for long, however, because before he can think of any other what-ifs, Jamie’s voice is coming through the receiver in a husky ‘hello’. Mason does his best not to cry right on the spot. “Jamie,” he breathes, clutching a hand over his chest to keep his heart from beating right out of it. “Hi. It’s me. Mason. I’m okay. I’m alive,” he figures is a good start. Regardless of where Jamie is in his life right now, he has to be happy to hear that, right? @jcmiefck

It’s a late, sleepless night when Jamie’s phone begins to ring. It’s irregular for anyone to call him at such an hour, and although the incoming call is coming from an unknown number, something tells him to answer it. Jamie recognizes his voice immediately, of course, but he doesn’t believe it’s actually Mason. He’s spent too long convincing himself that he’s gone to fall for that. It’s not that he wants to accept that the love of his life is really dead, and in fact he was the last person still fighting for them to keep searching, to look harder, to not give up, but even he had to come to terms with the truth eventually. It’s less excruciating than the alternative, which is waiting desperately on somebody to come back to him that may never do so. That’s why even with his voice in his ear he doesn’t trust that it’s him, because he was assured that it was impossible for him to survive, that without any evidence to prove otherwise the only logical conclusion was that Mason’s remains lay with those of thousands of other’s loved ones at the bottom of the ocean. There’s a few seconds of silence before he says anything, trying to decipher the intentions of whoever’s on the other end of the line. “Who is this?” he demands, having sat up in his bed so quickly that Kitty gives a disgruntled meow and climbs off of his legs before gingerly curling up at the end of the bed. His palm is starting to sweat where it’s clutching his phone, pulling back to glance at the number before cramming the device back against his ear. The area code tells him it’s coming from Florida, but that doesn’t really help to narrow it down. “This isn’t fucking funny,” he says, reliving memories of lowering an empty coffin into the ground at the mere mention of Mason. His friends know it’s taboo, know that Jamie’s heart still mourns the loss of his soulmate even if he’s forced himself to move on as best he can. He’s not at the point where he can reflect on their time with a smile yet, even after years it’s still fresh, and he can feel the emotion rushing up into his throat and stinging the back of his eyes, although his voice is cold and angry. He wants to hang up but he can’t bring himself to, on the one in a billion chance it truly is Mason. He wants an explanation as to who would toy with his heartstrings in such a way when he’s worked so hard just to be able to get up in the mornings without the embrace of a familiar body around him, and so he waits.

mason-conaway:

“Not really,” Mason answers honestly, his shoulder drooping a little. “They can’t…fix me,” he explains, swallowing around the lump in his throat. It’s only a beat later that he realizes what Jamie was really trying to get at, and he’s quick to correct himself. “You’ll be fine though. Some people do really well here. Most of them, actually. I’m just a special case, I suppose,” he shrugs, eyes drawn to the pale gray blur of his words. He doesn’t want to ask why Jamie’s in here, doesn’t want to bring up an already sensitive topic, but he’s curious. It isn’t often they get someone as clean cut as Jamie seems to be. He’s handsome and in decent shape, and he hasn’t tried to cut Mason’s head off just yet. He can’t be dangerous anyway, otherwise they wouldn’t have roomed him with Mason. They only had to make that mistake once and it definitely didn’t go well. Mason still gets goosebumps when he hears the name Tyler. “Guess it depends a little bit on what you’re here for. If you’ve got depression, you won’t be here long. They usually treat that pretty quick,” he puffs a small sigh, sinking further into his bed. The patients with eating disorders usually last a few months or so before they’re let out. The ones with personality disorders tend to stick around the longest. Mason would know, because most of the ones that are still around have been in since he first got here. Mason knows he’s still got a long time on his sentence. He knows he may not ever get better, that he may spend the rest of his life in here. He sincerely hopes that’s not the case with Jamie. He looks eager to get better and Mason sincerely wants him to, but he was eager once too.

“Did somebody tell you that?” Jamie asks, frown lines creasing his face. Mason seems pretty hopeless and all Jamie’s got left is his hope. He guesses he’d feel pretty hopeless too, if he’d been here as long as Mason has. He can’t help wondering what’s wrong with him, what it is he’s so sure can’t be cured. Maybe asking might take Jamie’s mind off what he’s going through, but he’s only just met him and not everybody likes talking about their problems to people they don’t know. “You don’t seem that... I dunno, unstable?” he admits. If Mason’s the worst they’ve seen, Jamie counts himself lucky. He’s encountered much stranger people roaming the streets of California, and his instincts are usually pretty good at warning him to stay away from them. His instincts aren’t telling him to run from Mason, or that Mason presents any kind of immediate danger. He’s attractive, which helps, and he could just be blinded, but he’ll have plenty of time to investigate whether or not his first impressions were right. He’ll need something to pass the time, and figuring out Mason seems as good of a way to do it as anything else. “I haven’t got depression,” he replies, his eyes finding Mason, trying to decide if he should trust him or not. He figures he’ll find out one way or another, and that he’s probably already heard it all anyways. Everyone here is fucked up in their own way, Mason included. “I’m an addict,” he reveals, accepting that he may as well get it out of the way before he starts going through the telltale withdrawals. “So I guess that means even if I do get out, I could end up coming back again. I fucking hope not, though,” he adds, with an apologetic smile. Mason probably wishes he weren’t here too, and he’s been here much longer than Jamie has. If anyone should be complaining, it should be him.

mason-conaway:

Mason’s never met a Jamie, but the name said aloud tastes like candy on his tongue and that’s all it takes for him to decide he likes it. He wrinkles his nose at the thought of talking, which is usually accompanied by less than appealing sights and tastes and smells. He doubts, however, that Jamie—who speaks in yellow hearts and smells like the sweetest thing Mason’s ever experienced—will be much of a bother to talk to. Their conversating is more likely to be an inconvenience to Jamie than it is to Mason. He doesn’t express so out loud because it seems like an odd thing to say to someone he’s just met. Instead, Mason shrugs, choosing not to comment on the matter. Jamie will learn with time that Mason’s not someone he’s going to enjoy having around. Everyone comes to the realization eventually. The other’s inquiry takes him a bit by surprise, but he supposes it’s a fair question to ask. Jamie’s probably subtly trying to gauge how crazy Mason is. Now that it’s been brought to his attention, Mason takes a few moments to look his new roommate over. He’s jittery, to say the least, but that’s to be expected considering it’s his first night in the ward. He doesn’t seem to have any wounds, ruling out self harm, and he looks to be in immaculate physical shape, crossing off eating disorder. “Six months,” he replies softly, wringing the sheets in his hands. “Maybe seven,” he continues, hopelessly watching on as his words spill out of him like expired milk. He hasn’t improved much in the months that he’s been here. All he knows is that he’s not normal enough to coexist in the real world, so until then, he needs to be locked away. He knows everyone is better off without him, knows he has nothing to offer the general public. It’s for the best that he’s here. He just feels bad that Jamie has to be the one to share his space.

Mason seems nervous, but Jamie doubts it has anything to do with him. This place could make anyone nervous. Nobody comes here because they want to, they come here because it’s the only option they’ve got left. Jamie knows that for him it was either this or death, and he hopes he’s made the choice that will save his life. Seven months, Mason says. That’s a long time to be in captivity. He’d never considered it could be that long for him, too. He knew it wouldn’t be an easy process, but that’s almost a year of life spent in a hospital. He tries not to let his face display his surprise, not wanting to make Mason feel shitty about the duration of his recovery. Surely he’ll be out soon, surely he’s doing much better than he was when he got here. “And?” he prompts, leaning in hopefully. “How is it, all things considered?” Jamie’s never been rehabilitated before, so he’s got nothing to compare it to. He has no idea what to expect, other than what he’s been told. “Is it helping?” he asks, his fingers gripping the edge of the mattress tightly. This is Jamie’s last hope, is the thing. It’s all or nothing for him, and he’s got to know what he’s in for. He’s got to know if it’s going to be worth it. Of course, he knows Mason doesn’t have all the answers. He’s only got one perspective, and it’s starting to look like his glass is always half empty, so he’ll take his opinion with a grain of salt. Still, it would be nice to hear someone say that he’s got something to look forward to. So far he’s scared to death of what’s to come, and if he’ll even have the strength he needs to get through it.

mason-conaway:

“I tried to stop him,” Mason sobs, his body shaking with an intensity that could rival even his darkest days. He feels manic and out of control, weak in ways he hasn’t felt in years. He can’t think straight, skin crawling with the memory of his hands, his breath, his words. It’s such a stark contrast to what he knows, to the sex he and Jamie usually have filled with all the love in the world. But, Reed has left a permanent mark on him, stamping his association to sex with a seal of fear and embarrassment that he’s sure he’ll never rid himself of. “No, no, no,” he shakes his head fervently when Jamie starts asking questions. He can’t talk about it, can’t speak Reed’s name. “Please, don’t make me,” he begs, voice cracking as he squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees stars. He’s hyperventilating, gasping in huge breathes of air that are doing positively nothing to get oxygen into his lungs. He’s suffocating, trapped in an endless loop of memories replaying in his head. He’s convinced nothing will scrub him of the shame he’s currently sporting; he’s had so much taken from him that can never be returned. “He’s everywhere, he’s everywhere, I can’t breathe. I can’t—” Mason desperately tries to explain through the mess of tears and snot collecting in the creases of his face. He only cries harder at Jamie’s question, sniffling loudly before nodding to affirm that, yes, he is in pain. He hasn’t had the time to think about it, too caught up in the mental trauma of it all, but now that he takes the time to feel for it, he can safely say he is in a more severe pain than he’s possibly ever known. He’s on fire and everything hurts, and he’s not sure what’s being asked of him, not sure why Jamie is still here. Because he doesn’t know, a little voice reminds him. The second he finds out what you did, he’ll kick you to the curb, baby. Better keep that pretty mouth shut. Before he can even try to process where the pain is coming from, Jamie is jostling him, presumably looking for injuries that Mason is downright failing to point him in the direction of. Since the other has pointed it out, Mason is feeling it worse than ever, sparks of hurt leaving him in even more distress than he was prior. Jamie’s holding him at arm’s length now, shifting Mason just enough to cause a searing pain to shoot through his backside and ripping a wrecked scream from the back of his throat. “There, there,” he expresses miserably. He brings his hand up to cover his face, biting at the skin of his wrist in hopes of redirecting the toe-curling pain that’s still rushing through his body. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop,” he begs into his hand, praying that it will all be over soon.

“Okay, alright,” Jamie surrenders, his stomach churning with each foul realization. He doesn’t want to hear Mason recount it any more than Mason wants to do so, if his instincts are right about what Mason is withholding. “I won’t make you,” he decides, for the time being, swallowing back the nausea that is burning at the back of his throat and blinking away the sting at his eyes. His question is far from retired, but he’ll lay it to rest for now. He won’t force him to explain when the wounds are still so fresh. His worst fears are only confirmed by the God awful noise Mason makes when Jamie moves him, making it clear just how much pain Mason’s in. He’s never dealt with a Mason quite this fragile, and he’s seen Mason at his very worst. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. I need to get help, alright? Just give me a second, I’m gonna find someone. Where is everybody? Jesus fucking-- Ryan,” he sighs in relief as the band’s lead guitarist, Ryan, comes stumbling into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It appears that they’ve finally woken someone else with the commotion, which Jamie is grateful for, because he can’t handle this all on his own. He’s got his hands full, quite literally. Ryan’s facial expression quickly shifts from confusion to concern when he catches sight of Mason crumpled up beside Jamie on the floor. “What’s going on?” he asks, eyes widening. “What’s wrong with Mason?” Jamie has an inkling but he doesn’t want to repeat it out loud to Ryan when he can’t even face the truth himself. “I dunno,” he replies helplessly, abandoning his examination and pulling Mason back into an embrace instead. “I dunno. He won’t tell me. He’s hurt, he’s in pain. I don’t want to leave him by himself. Please, go call someone. He needs to go to the hospital.” His voice is shaking, trying to keep it together for Mason’s sake, but it feels surreal, like he’s there but out of body and watching disaster unfold without the control to stop it. He can feel Ryan move towards them, presumably to see if there’s anything he can do to help, to observe how badly Mason’s injured, and Jamie turns to shoot him an urgent look over his shoulder. “Fucking hurry, Ryan,” he instructs desperately. “Can you not see he’s suffering? Please, go call an ambulance.” It seems to knock some sense into him, because he turns and rushes off towards his bunk to retrieve his phone, leaving Mason and Jamie alone again. He’s less panicked now that help is soon on the way, but he’s still got to keep him calm in the meantime, which so far he’s proving to be a real failure at. He rubs his hand fruitlessly over Mason’s back, trying to reassure him as best he possibly can. He’s never dealt with anything like this before, doesn’t know what to say or how to make it better, just that he has to. He can’t bear to see Mason like this, and he never thought he’d have to. “It will be better soon, I promise. We’re getting help, I’m gonna take care of you,” he says, stomach in knots. He just wishes he’d done a better job of it earlier, that he’d been able to find him and been able to prevent it.

mason-conaway:

Mason’s exhausted. He’s tired and sore and feels out of the loop, but he can’t deny the other’s words make him feel safe in a way he hasn’t felt since waking up. For whatever reason, with this person by his side, everything’s going to be okay; He’s sure of it. He focuses on the cadence of the stranger’s voice, the soft lilt of his accent floating through the air. The tears are coming to a stop, his body too tired to do anything more than what it has to to keep him alive. He’s still got a breathing tube sitting in his throat uncomfortably, but Mason lets all of that fade away in favor of tuning into the beautiful song he’s hearing instead. His eyes are glued to the other’s, blue hypnotized by green and he wishes he could touch. It isn’t long before he’s lulled back to sleep, despite the struggle to keep his eyes open and continue listening, continue being present in case he wakes up to find it was all a dream. When he wakes up, things are slightly bleary again. The breathing tube is gone and he feels much more rested than he did the last time he was awake. The pretty man, however, is also gone, which sparks a panic deep inside Mason’s core. He makes a displeased sound, attempting to call out, but it seems his voice still doesn’t want to cooperate. He’s on the verge of tears, once more, until he spots the stranger outside talking to someone who must be his doctor. The stranger seems to sense a change in Mason’s consciousness because he looks through the crack of the door as soon as Mason sees him. He’s excusing himself, making his way back inside Mason’s room with what appears to be a cup of coffee. Mason tries not to look to overeager, but he’s downright pleased the man is still here. He doesn’t want to be alone, not when he already feels so clueless about what’s going on. Pay attention to me, Mason demands, hoping the brunette will be able to read his thoughts. Tell me who you are, he continues, his fingers twitching when the other is close enough to reach. He wonders if the stranger is going to hold his hand again like he did last time; Mason hopes that he does.

Mason but be exhausted, judging by how fast he nods off and how long he seems to sleep for. Jamie figures he’s been through a lot, and he lets him take all the time he needs. He’s got phone calls to make anyways, and rest of his own to catch up on. When he next sees Mason he’s feeling a little more refreshed and, after a brief discussion with his doctor about his stable condition, hopeful. It’s too soon to give any kind of definite prognosis, he’s been told, but he’s exactly where he’s expected to be at this stage of recovery. Jamie will be there every step of the way, and it’s encouraged that he spend as much time with him as possible, which shouldn’t be a problem. One-sided conversation isn’t the easiest to make, but at least he knows Mason’s listening and absorbing. That’s more than he was doing yesterday. When Jamie realizes Mason is awake again, he manages to put a polite end to their conversation, making his way back to the chair beside his bed with Jamie’s name on it. “Morning, angel,” he greets, kissing his cheek and placing his drink on the little table beside his bed next to the flowers he’s been collecting over the days. “Sleep well? I’ve let your family and friends know you’re awake and everyone’s looking forward to seeing you. I’m trying to arrange a flight for your family to visit, and Aiden said he’ll come by after work,” he notifies him, clasping Mason’s hand tightly in his once more. He realizes the delivery of information must be a lot for him, considering he doesn’t know anyone Jamie is talking about, and attempts to clarify a little bit. “Aiden’s your ex-boyfriend,” he provides, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “He’s been a really good friend to us over the years. I dunno if we’d have gotten back together if it weren’t for him,” he adds, reflecting on all the help he gave them. He never in a million years thought he’d be best friends with the guy who used to fuck the love of his life, but it’s hard not to love Aiden. “We are together, by the way, in case I didn’t make that obvious.” He smiles gently, his eyes stuck on Mason’s. “We have been for... well, it’s complicated, but a few years now. Oh, and I’m Jamie. Guess I should have said that first.” It’s kind of an awkward thing to do, reintroducing himself to someone he’s already deeply familiar with, but if he were in Mason’s shoes he’d likely be looking for an explanation. He just hopes he’s doing this right, if there even is a right way to communicate with someone in Mason’s position. “Anyways... I just thought I’d let you know that you might have some more company soon. And that there are a lot of people who love you, me included.”

mason-conaway:

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me,” Mason begs with his eyes shut tight, feeling hands on his body once more. He can hardly hear Jamie’s voice over the sound of his own crying, too stuck in his head to resonate with what’s actually happening. Eventually, he lets himself open his eyes and comes to the realization that he’s not with Reed. He’s with Jamie. That, however, brings on a whole new set of panic. “I’m sorry,” he cries, turning his head so he doesn’t have to look at the other. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t want it, I swear,” he reiterates, clawing at Jamie’s arms in an attempt to get out of them. He can’t look his boyfriend in the eye and tell him that another man was inside of him tonight. He can’t tell Jamie that Reed fucked him against his will, without proper preparation and without a condom, because what if Jamie doesn’t believe him? What if Jamie thinks he wanted it? He’s too weak, too hysterical to make any sort of progress on escaping the other’s grasp, so he gives up and lets Jamie hold him. He lets himself sob uncontrollably as the other prods at him for information, lets himself hang like a rag doll in Jamie’s grip. “I didn’t w-want it,” he blubbers, the only thing he can even think to say after everything that’s happened. Even if he wished to relay what happened, he can’t find the words to do so. He can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s just been raped. This is your own fault. Walking around in those tight jeans with an ass as sinful as yours. I’ll bet I’m not the first one to take advantage. “Get him off of me,” Mason begs, ensnared by the bruises and the memories. He can still smell the fresh blood dripping down his legs as Reed fucked into him over and over again. He can still feel the hands that wrapped around his throat when he tried to scream for help. “I’m disgusting, I’m disgusting, please. Get him off of me,” he cries, his skin crawling with the feeling of Reed still lingering. He needs to scrub the taste of him off his tongue, the memory of Reed forcing himself down Mason’s throat still fresh in his mind. You’ll mind your teeth if you know what’s good for you, slut. “Please, please, please,” he chants as a mantra, twisting in Jamie’s grip once more. He doesn’t even know what’s he’s asking for, doesn’t know what he’s expecting Jamie to do.

Something is deeply not right, transcending any kind of physical damage and branching into the territory of emotional destruction. The bruises are concerning, but the things Mason is saying are even more so. He wants to push for clarification, but he’s scared what that clarity will bring to light. He opts for pulling Mason closer to his body, his sobs muffled against his chest as he rocks his entire body with him. “Okay, I believe you. This isn’t your fault, none of this is your fault,” he soothes, mind racing as he tries to not only keep up with the rapidly escalating situation but also piece together the clues Mason is giving him. Whatever’s happened tonight, Jamie knows Mason’s not to blame. Mason doesn’t deserve anything but the utmost happiness. Clearly there’s been some kind of struggle that it appears Mason may have lost, but Jamie can’t think of a single reason that would justify anyone laying a hand on him. “Get who off of you? Mason, it’s me. It’s just me,” he tries to comfort, feeling him struggling harder. Jamie doesn’t want to restrain him but he can’t let him go. Not when he’s like this-- unpredictable and irrational, and potentially a risk to himself. He keeps him held to his chest but his voice remains a constant source of reassurance in his ear, tears pricking his eyes as he anticipates the harm that must have been inflicted on him to bring him to this state. “Nobody’s on you, nobody can hurt you any more. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he vows. Whoever’s responsible is going to pay, that much he’s sure of. For the moment, however, his priority is Mason, and he's yet to hear any kind of reassurance that he’s okay. Mason is known to be prone to theatrics, but this a lot to fake, even for him. He doesn’t doubt that Mason is telling him the truth. “I’m gonna make it better, I promise. But I need you to answer me. Are you hurt anywhere else? Are you in pain?” he questions, trying to get a grasp of the full extent of trauma before he decides how to proceed. He knows he’s not fully equipped to deal with this on his own, but he’s also not sure exactly what he’s dealing with just yet.

mason-conaway:

It doesn’t take much to wake Mason from his nap. Despite how exhausted he is, it’s like his body is desperate to stay awake, lest he fall back into a prolonged unconsciousness again. Much like the first time, he’s confused upon looking around. He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know why he’s here. He can’t really feel his arms or legs, but he can see. And what he sees is possibly the prettiest person alive, sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. Said pretty person is talking now, much to Mason’s surprise, the voice washing over him like the comfort of a warm blanket on a windy, autumn night. He’s confused, a question in his eyes he’s not sure the other will be able to read. He can’t voice what he’s feeling, can’t ask what he wants to know. It’s comforting, however, that the man next to him doesn’t seem like he’s expecting him to. Mason’s fingers twitch involuntarily, but part of him wonders if it’s a natural reaction, if his body wants to be closer to this person. He’s trying to piece it all together, which is easier said than done. It’s like there’s this cloud fogging up his brain and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his way through it. There are vague figures and shapes, but nothing is clear enough to make out. All he can see are the same green eyes staring back at him now. He feels tears pricking at his eyes before he can attempt to stop them. He’s not sure he even could if he tried, considering how little a grasp he seems to have on the situation. It’s just frustrating, waking up confused and in the dark with no way of asking someone to please shed some light on the situation. The tears are openly flowing down his cheeks now, though nothing in his expression reflects as much, save for the helplessness in his eyes. He’s sure any moment now one of the doctors will come in, which is the last thing he wants. He can’t stomach another one of their tests, not when he can see in their eyes that he’s failing.

Jamie feels Mason’s fingers twitch in his grip and he tightens his grasp around him, thumb running over his index finger as he kisses the back of his hand again. It’s hard not to be sad, because the Mason he knows and loves is trapped inside of his own body, incapable of communicating with him, but he’s got plenty to be grateful for and he focuses on that. He focuses on the doctors expectation of a full recovery and how good it is to see Mason aware albeit unresponsive. He misses his voice, but at least now he’s got his eyes, his big beautiful eyes that are slowly filling up with tears before him. It makes his heart wrench and he stands up immediately, chair legs scraping on the hospital floor as he moves closer to his face, hand still safely clasped in his own. “Don’t cry, my love. Don’t be sad. It will all be fine, I’m watching over you. I’ll be here the whole time, we’re in this together. Okay?” he consoles, although he’s obviously not expecting an answer to his question. He’s tenderly wiping the tears from Mason’s face as he speaks, leaning in to rest his lips against his forehead for several lasting seconds. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Just get lots of rest, that’s all you’re expected to do. Don’t worry about anything,” he reassures him, his voice soft and soothing despite being on the verge of falling apart himself. He’s trying to convince them both that it will turn out alright, that in time he’ll have his Mason back. “When your legs don’t work like they used to before,” he sings quietly against his skin, the melody intended to lull him back into a more peaceful state. “And I can’t sweep you off of your feet,” he continues, aware that Mason won’t recognize the tune or that the lyrics are about him. It doesn’t really matter though, when the intention is just to take his mind off of whatever’s making him hurt. “Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?” he croons, grabbing a fistful of tissues from the box beside his bed and soaking up the rest of the tears leaking from Mason’s eyes. He can’t do anything else but look at his boy, the boy who’s made his life so much better just by being part of it and who he hadn’t expected to almost lose so soon. His voice threatens to break thinking about it, but Jamie doesn’t let it. He continues to serenade him, just loud enough for the sound to carry in the nearly silent room, save for the beep of the medical equipment. He doesn’t know if he’s helping or making things worse by being here, but he can’t stomach the thought of leaving Mason by himself, even for a moment. In some way, he likes to think Mason’s gaze is asking him to stay.

mason-conaway:

When Mason opens his eyes, he’s met with nothing but light. There’s something blinding him, making it impossible to see, no matter how often he blinks. Eventually, things start to come into view. He sees foggy pictures of people, sees wires and machines and the stark white of the walls. He’s still not entirely sure where he is. All he knows is someone’s speaking to him, sounding far away even though he knows the person is standing right next to him. “Mason,” the man is saying, and it’s cloudy, but he desperately holds on to the sound, terrified of being submerged back into darkness. When everything has become more clear, Mason looks around, eyes snapping to the man when he says his name once more. He appears to be a doctor and is standing surrounded by several nurses, who are all scrambling to attend to Mason. They spend the next half hour putting him through a series of tests; or at least, that’s what they feel like. By the the time they’ve finished, Mason is exhausted and his eyes slip shut before he can even try to communicate as much to the doctor. Dr. Henriks smiles upon exiting Mason’s room and is immediately greeted with Jamie’s presence, the other’s eyes holding what feels like a million questions. “He’s awake and appears to be breathing on his own,” he informs the other, who has spent the better part of the week in the hospital’s waiting room. “We’re hoping to take the breathing tube out of him tomorrow if everything goes well through the night. The good news is he does not appear to be in a vegetative state, which means he’s coherent and can understand what’s happening around him to some degree,” he begins, leading Jamie away from Mason’s room and towards some chairs so they can sit down. “He’s able to focus on whoever is talking to him, so that’s a great start. Once we determined he wasn’t in a vegetative state, my team and I put him through a series of questions and commands to sort of…see where he was at with his neurological skills,” he continues to explain, wanting Jamie to get the full picture of what to expect. “Currently, his motor skills as far along as we’d liked them to be. He’s able to twitch his fingers, but likely, it’s just something that’s happening sporadically and not necessarily under his control. He isn’t showing any signs of being able to verbalize his thoughts. It’s possible the part of his brain that allows him to speak just hasn’t woken up yet, so that won’t be something to worry about for right now. As far as we know, he has no recollection of who he is or why he’s here, which is incredibly common for a patient post-coma. We’re optimistic that his memory will gradually come back to him throughout his stay here, but as with everything else, there’s no way of knowing for sure. It’ll be easier to see the bigger picture once we’ve been able to track his progress for a few days. We’re going to keep an eye on it,” Dr. Henriks nods slowly. “Like I told you before, Jamie, there are a lot of factors involved with a post-coma patient. He’s going to have to relearn a lot of what he already knows, but it’s important to stay positive. Remember, he can hear and understand everything you say, so it’s imperative you only say things that are going to encourage his progress. He has a long road ahead of him and needs a strong support system. It may be a while before he’s able to speak or walk on his own, but Mason is in a good starting place. I’m incredibly confident in his ability to make a full recovery. Now, when we see that he’s regained some of his motor skills, he’ll have to be moved out of the hospital and into a facility. I can talk to you about my recommendations for that later. He’s currently taking a nap right now, as our questions probably wore him out, but you’re welcome to go in and see him if you like. Continue to talk to him and hold his hand, just as you did before. Just remember not to bring anything up that might upset him, as it could slow down his progress.” @jcmiefck

Jamie’s up the second Dr. Henriks steps into view, shooting out of the cramped little chair he’s spent the majority of the past week living in. He rushes to meet him as he leaves Mason’s room, eyes wide and expectant. “How is he?” he questions hurriedly, before the Doctor can even open his mouth, wringing his hands as he awaits an answer. Only when it finally comes can Jamie relax, shoulders dropping as a hand moves to rest over his chest where his heart is hammering loud enough to wake the entire ward. “Thank God,” he sighs, relieved to get one of the first pieces of good news that week. Besides Mason being alive, it feels as if he hasn’t heard any positive information since he’s been here. They haven’t actually told him very much at all, but up until this point there hadn’t been a whole lot to tell. Mason’s been in a coma and they didn’t know if or when he was going to wake up from it, so progress has been slow and almost undetectable. He’s mostly been laying by his bedside, Mason’s fingers wrapped up in his, trying desperately to coax some life back into his body. He’s prayed every day for Mason’s eyes to open again, and at long last his prayers have been answered. Jamie hasn’t been sleeping much or very well, and so the plethora of new information is a lot for his exhausted brain to digest, but he’s clinging to every word like he’s the one with a tube down his throat and Dr. Henriks is feeding him oxygen. He’s been hoping for the best and preparing the worst, so Jamie takes this small victory as worth celebrating even despite the fragile state Mason sounds to be in. He’s awake, he can’t move or speak or remember who he is, but he’s coming out from up from a week long nap and so Jamie doesn’t doubt that will take time. “Thank God,” he repeats, wiping away the tears of relief that streak his cheeks with palms that still shake with fear from what felt like hours spent pacing in the waiting room while Mason’s door remained shut and his questions unanswered. He’s eager to see him, but he takes the time to listen to the doctor’s advice, preparing himself for what he’s going to find inside. It seems there is a direct connection between Jamie’s interaction and Mason’s ability to do well, and it’s not a responsibility he intends to take lightly. Mason’s been unbelievably strong these past days, and now it’s Jamie’s turn to be strong for him. He nods to show that he understands, taking a deep grounding breath that does very little to help him actually breathe. He’s been suffocating without Mason, crushed by the weight of his worst nightmare come to life closing in on him. “I will. I’ll be around for as long as it takes, I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Or whatever Mason needs me to do. Thank you, doctor,” he says, before reaching for the door knob and turning it to let himself into Mason’s room. Upon first stepping inside it doesn’t look like much has changed, Mason still lying motionless in his bed hooked up to the same equipment that’s been keeping him alive. He closes the door quietly behind them and moves towards him, finding his other familiar spot in the chair by his bed and sitting down. Carefully, like every other time he’s sat with him, he takes Mason’s hand in his hands, interlacing their fingers and leaning down so that his lips touch the back of Mason’s hand. He glances up just in time to realize he’s being watched by a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Sorry,” he breathes, swallowing down the lump that forms in his throat upon seeing Mason looking back at him for the first time in too long. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I know you’re tired,” he apologizes softly, reaching up to brush his fingers over Mason’s forehead and dusting aside his fringe. “It’s really nice to see you.”

mason-conaway:

“I hope you didn’t clear your schedule for something as minor as this. I’ve been sick before; I’ll be sick again. It’s nothing to switch your calendar over. I’m sure you’ve got something more important to attend to,” he murmurs, and it’s not that he’s trying to convince Jamie to abandon him, but Mason is someone who needs several reassurances before he can take someone’s word for something. It’s weird having Jamie to dote on him after months of near radio silence. Things still feel just as natural as they did a year ago and Mason wonders if that means something about their connection to one another, that they can fall back into routine like it’s nothing. When the other starts to deny what Mason has fully accepted as the truth, he shakes his head. He’s confident that Jamie will come to resent him, whether he wants to fight it or not. “You’ve got this warped idea in your head where I’m responsible for your happiness. I gave you a place to stay and got you back on your feet and somehow you’ve tied that to your accomplishments. But, really, I was just in the background. The rest of it, Jamie, it was all you. You never needed me and if you give it enough time, I think you’ll finally start to see that,” he explains, too confident in his words to let the other sway him. “Maybe it’s not better now, but once you start touring and doing promo again, you’ll see. You won’t have to juggle two worlds anymore,” he shrugs, eyes downcast on the hand still resting on his thigh. His heart soars at the possessiveness of the gesture, how it screams that he still belongs to Jamie even though he knows it’s been untrue for quite some time. Mason hums in response to Jamie’s breakfast ideas, gratefully taking the hands that are offered to him. The contrast in size looks significantly larger than before, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I’m assuming tea will be provided as well,” he comments off-handedly on their way to the kitchen, incredibly thankful for the supportive grip on his back. He’s still a little unsteady on his feet, though in all honestly, it probably doesn’t have much to do with the alcohol. Mason’s been feeling off balance for months. “And how would you know that? You haven’t been drinking too much lately, have you?” He wonders, suddenly feeling very concerned. He knows Jamie can get a little out of control when it comes to inebriating substances and, without someone to keep him on track, it’s entirely possible for him to have fallen back into old habits. “You better not have anything laying around here either. I really worry about you, you know? Now that I’m not around to keep you in check. I was more worried on tour. That you’d…get into that again. Terrified, actually. It would have been one more thing to pull you away from me,” he expresses, chewing thoughtfully at his lower lip. Mason freezes in surprise at the hug. And it’s so gentle, so warming paired with a kiss on the cheek, that for a second he can almost pretend everything is okay. Jamie is gone just as quickly as he came, however, and Mason’s crashing back into reality. He’s staring at the other from across the room and even though they’re physically closer than they’ve been in months, there’s still miles of distance between them.

“I promise you I’ve got nothing more important going on,” Jamie says. It just so happens that Mason is the most important thing in his life, and has been for quite some time now-- long before Mason ever knew it and ages before it was reciprocated. He can’t change how he feels, is the thing, and he can’t help but feel strongly for Mason. It’s as if it’s hard-wired into Jamie to love him, as instinctual as the need to draw air into his lungs. It seems Mason may never understand the capacity of which Jamie has to love him, that his heart was empty before him and now it’s filled to the brim with adoration for Mason. Jamie shakes his head again, eyebrows pulling together in frustration. “No,” he insists stubbornly. “You weren’t in the background, you were right beside me. You were always right beside me. You did so much more than give me a place to stay, you were the first person to give me a chance. I always knew where I wanted to be, but for the first time in my life, with you, I could actually envision it. I got a second chance at life but I was never really living, ‘till I met you. Fuck, Mason. I don’t know how you don’t see this yet. How do I make you see this?” he asks, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he brushes away the tears that are slipping down his cheeks with the back of his palm. “I have a lot to be grateful for, but it’s not the same without you. It hasn’t been the same since you left. The accomplishments don’t mean as much when I don’t have you to share ‘em with. I’ve given it time and it hasn’t gotten any better. Dunno why you don’t believe that, dunno why you think you’re so replaceable,” he mumbles, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and sniffing. “You’re not.” He glances up at him, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath that pulls him back together as he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess,” he croaks quietly. “I never really thought of it as juggling, though.” Granted, it will take his mind off of things when the time comes for a new album release, but it’s not just going to erase all things Mason from his mind. Nothing will ever have the power to do that, Jamie himself doesn’t seem to have the mental strength to do it and he doesn’t foresee himself mustering it any time soon. Shoulders dropping, he shuffles away in the direction of the kitchen and begins to rummage through the cupboards for the ingredients he needs. “You can have as much tea as you like. I’ve still got loads,” he assures him, his cupboards still stocked with some of Mason’s favorites. It’s comforting, for some reason, to have them there when he isn’t. He pulls his shirt up over his nose to dry the remainder of his face as he waits for the kettle to heat up, a cup for coffee and another for tea set up in front of him. “So was I,” he admits. “But you don’t need to worry. There’s nothing laying around.” He’s been doing pretty well, considering the situation. He’s definitely been finding more opportunities to drink than he used to, but if yesterday is any indication it looks like Mason is, too. Speaking of which. “Are we gonna talk about last night?” he pipes up, back to Mason. He figures they should probably address it at some point.

mason-conaway:

That’s it. Make as much noise as you want, baby. Want him to hear you scream. Mason shakes his head in hopes that the movement will somehow get Reed’s voice out of it. He’s stumbling, trying to make his way back to the tour bus because it’s the only place he can think to go. He hasn’t even considered the possibility that Jamie might be there, hasn’t wrapped his head around the fact that Jamie could never want him after this. Go ahead. Try to tell him what happened. I’ll say you wanted it. Who do you think he’s going to believe? His trusted bandmate, or his pornstar boyfriend? You were practically gagging for it, weren’t you? Mason’s still crying, doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop. He can still feel Reed’s hands on him. He knows his wrists and his hips and his thighs are bruised with fingerprints and, true, they might fade before the week is up, but they’re never going to disappear from Mason’s mind. How can he go about his life when words that used to be terms of endearment now remind him of the ringing he heard in his ears while Reed fucked him from behind. He’s ashamed of his body in ways he’s never been before. He wants to cover up, to hide himself away so no one ever looks at him and thinks, “Hey, that’s someone I might want to fuck.” Because if they’re anything like Reed, they can just do it. They can push Mason face-first into a table and use his body however they want to. He knows he looks a mess, tears and snot collecting on his face and probably dripping unflatteringly into his mouth. He’s given up on trying to clean himself up. There are tears in his sweatshirt from where he struggled with Reed trying to get it off; he’s only got his boxers on underneath. He didn’t have a chance to grab his trousers as he scrambled to get out, his hands shaking and his vision blurry. When he pushes the way onto the tour bus, he almost doesn’t see Jamie at first. He’s in a mad rush. Whether he’s heading towards the shower or the bed first, he’s not sure. It doesn’t seem to matter much because he runs into something rock-solid before he can get to either. Mason can’t help but sob harder, a terrified sound escaping his lips as he’s certain Reed has somehow found him again. Is that the best you’ve got? Thought you did this for a living, baby. Put on a show. “Please,” Mason begs deliriously, knocking himself to the floor as he attempts to scramble away from the figure. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go. Please,” he cries, his voice hoarse and more broken than it’s ever sounded to his own ears. The new position he’s in seems to highlight the excruciating pain presiding in his lower half. There’s a mess of blood and come drying in the crevices of his skin, but Mason can’t think about that right now. He can’t stand to do much other than pray that it’s over, his calls of please stop and help playing over and over on a loop in his head. Except no one came. No one’s coming. @jcmiefck

Mason is a fully-fledged tornado on the best of days, but on this occasion Jamie can barely keep track of him as he comes barreling into him. Mason’s almost always a bundle of nervous or excited energy, some days he’s practically vibrating with how much he’s got racing around inside of him, but he’s never like this. Mason’s not trying to find someone or something to unleash mischief on, he’s trying to escape and Jamie’s just a barricade in his way. He doesn’t have time to get a proper grip on him to steady his body before he’s thrashing out of his hands and collapsing to the floor. It’s hard to understand what he’s saying, and once he does, it’s even harder to comprehend what any of it means. He’s making no sense, just babbling hysterically like Jamie’s trying to bring him harm when, realistically, he hasn’t laid a hand on him. He immediately drops down onto his knees beside him, hands combing over his body as he tries to get his attention. When Mason goes into subspace and is unresponsive, this is how he gets him to come back, but this is much different than subspace. This is much scarier and more dangerous than subspace. With the way he’s struggling, he’s at just as much of a risk of getting hurt, but by the looks of it he already has been. “Mason,” he says, turning his face towards him and using the sleeve of his sweater to absorb some of the tears running down his cheeks. “Mason. Baby. What’s wrong? What’s going on?” he asks, rolling his body towards him so he can pull him into his lap, despite the immense fight Mason is putting up currently. He’s bruised, Jamie comes to realize, turning a tiny wrist in his hand to get a better look at the fresh blue and purple imprint blooming across his flesh. Jamie’s really getting worried, desperately trying to get some kind of explanation he can make sense of from Mason, a name or even a description so he can make sure it never happens again. “Who did this to you? Tell me what happened,” he begs, wiping Mason’s dripping nose with the sleeve of his sweater as well, petting away the hair that’s sticking to the wetness on his face. His heart is shattering into a million pieces as Mason continues crying, his body shaking with the force of his sobs no matter how securely Jamie’s got him held in his arms. “You’re safe now, I’m here,” he reminds him, holding his cheek in one of his hands to keep him looking at Jamie, a face he can hopefully recognize as trustworthy. “Please, baby, talk to me. Say something,” he pleads, his voice breaking as his thumb strokes the skin of his cheek, attempting to calm him down from whatever trauma he’s just experienced.

mason-conaway:

“Oh god,” Mason shakes his head as he reads the text. Jamie will be home any minute and everything’s going to shit. It’s not often that Mason goes out of his way to do a big, romantic gesture, but he feels Jamie deserves one after how long he’s made him wait. It was only this week that he could finally admit to himself he loved the other. They were laying in bed, lazing around in the early morning sunlight. Jamie was still half asleep, his eyes scrunching up adorably as they attempted to adjust to the light. He’d reached out to brush a piece of hair from Mason’s eyes, his touch so soft and gentle, his gaze so incredibly fond. Mason’s heart was so warm in that moment, the words worked their way onto his tongue before he could stop them. He’s been holding it in since, and if the way he’s been jittery all week is anything to go by, Jamie must know something is up. The only reason Mason’s been able to get him out of the house is because it’s Jamie’s birthday today. His bandmates have taken him to do god-knows what; all that matters is they’ve given Mason plenty of time for preparation. Not enough though, apparently, because even with the three hours he’s had, nothing is anywhere close to the perfect night Mason was hoping for. Kitty’s already knocked the flowers off the table, leaving a mess of water and glass on the floor for Mason to clean up. He’s stained his shirt and had to change twice throughout the cooking process—which is a lot harder than Jamie makes it out to be, he might add. The worst part of it all is that the fondue machine he bought, specifically for the occasion, doesn’t come with sticks and he’s scoured the house ten times over for something that could suffice only to come up empty-handed. If it weren’t for the rose petals he’s scattered across the floor and the dimmed lights, the house wouldn’t look any different than it does on a regular night. He starts to panic when he hears the door open whilst Kitty scrambles towards the entrance to greet her Daddy. “Fuck,” he curses under his breathe, checking his outfit one more time before he puts on a brave face. He’s decked out in his nicest skinny jeans, the ones that could be confused for dress pants if they weren’t so damn tight. He’s donning a long-sleeved, white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, along with red braces and a red bow tie. His hair was done up nicely an hour ago, but it’s since fallen into a slightly messy, fucked-out state. Not that he thinks Jamie will mind that part. “Hi baby,” Mason greets, smiling when he steps into the main walkway to see his boyfriend. “Did you have a good day with the lads?” He asks, leaning up to give the other a peck on the lips. He hums when he feels Jamie’s hands slip down his back and towards his arse, taking it as a sign that he likes what he sees. Mason allows himself to sink into the embrace a moment longer before he freezes, eyes going wide when the realization of what he’s smelling hits him. Something’s burning. “Fuck, oh my god,” Mason hisses, scrambling back to the kitchen to assess the damage. What he sees has him stopping short in his tracks. There is an alarming amount of smoke coming from the oven and he’s not sure if the chicken inside of it is on fire or not. @jcmiefck

Jamie’s birthday has been relatively relaxed thus far. He’s lounged around for most of the day with Mason, and his friends have taken him out for drinks before returning him home hours later with an empty stomach and the intention to head out to dinner with Mason. That’s all he needs, and it’s all he wants. He’s never done birthdays and so the very fact that his is being acknowledged is a big deal in itself for him. Having someone to spend it with is something he always wished for but couldn’t forsee. Now it’s reality, and waking up with Mason at his side is what makes his day most special, as will falling asleep with him in his arms. He texts Mason before he leaves the bar where he’s lost track of time playing billiards with his bandmates and is home less than fifteen minutes later. He isn’t expecting the apartment to be decorated, but as he fits his key in the lock and turns the handle he’s surprised to find that it is. The lights are low and there are petals under his feet as he steps inside, but he’s more impressed with the decorating Mason’s done of himself. He loves everything about Mason’s usual attire, skimpily dressed in Jamie’s sweaters and often nothing else as he lazes around their apartment, but this is something else entirely. Jamie’s proud that this is the person he gets to spend the rest of his life with, and he’s smiling before either of them say a word. “Hello, gorgeous,” he replies, gravitating towards him so that he can observe him in more detail. “I did, yeah. Gonna have an even better night with you, I think. You look amazing, I wish I’d got the memo,” he teases, twisting his fingers in one of the braces as he leans in to kiss him. He doesn’t even smell the smoke until Mason pulls away, too involved in what’s already a complete sensory overload. He realizes he’s right though, and rushes after him to the kitchen to find the source of the odor. The room is already thick with a screen of smoke and Jamie’s surprised the detector hasn’t gone off yet. “You’re cooking?” he remarks in alarm, which is a red flag in and of itself. He’s really gone above and beyond tonight and Jamie doesn’t have a moment to appreciate it because their apartment is rapidly being consumed by the smell of burning food. He reaches for the oven door and opens it, releasing another cloud into the room and coughing as it creeps into his lungs and makes his eyes water. There’s definitely flames licking at the back of the oven, but he can’t really assess the severity through his limited vision. “Go open the windows, babe. I’ll take care of this,” he tells Mason, as he unhinges the fire extinguisher from their wall and removes the pin, aiming the nozzle inside of the oven and squeezing the trigger to smother the flames until they’re fully extinguished. Whatever Mason was making is definitely not edible now, and Jamie hates to tell him so as he makes his way back into the other room. “I think we’re going to have to order something. I’m sorry, I can tell you worked hard on this. I was really surprised, if that’s worth anything,” he says, walking towards Mason and pulling him in for a hug with his lips to his forehead.

mason-conaway:

Mason startles when the other steps into the room. He’s aware of the deep rumble of the patient’s voice, but it’s hard to focus on much other than the yellow hearts his words have manifested into. It’s been so long since Mason’s seen pure, unadulterated sunshine, and he’s certainly not ready to slip back into the never-ending darkness that generally consumes his life. He gives a little shake of his head at the question, wanting so badly to ask for the other’s name. The words, however, refuse to come out. Instead, he looks down at where his hands are resting against the stark white bed covers. He hopes he’s not making a terrible first impression, but up close, the man smells like a campfire and warm, roasted marshmallows. Mason wants to curl up next to him and bathe in the heat, because he’s been uncomfortably cold for a while. “I…um. I’m Mason,” he finally manages to get out, his voice hardly above a whisper. It’s hard to want to talk when all the comes out of his mouth are ugly sludges of gray. There are no definite shapes or definite colors. His words don’t serve any purpose, and often times, neither does Mason. He sticks to himself, he sleeps, and he tries not to get too upset at all the unpleasant sounds and sights around him. It’s not Kathy’s fault that her voice resembles red balloons that burst every time she spits. Timothy certainly can’t help that he smells like rotten eggs every time he scowls at the television. These are simply Mason problems, not anyone else’s, so he does his best to stay out of the way. He knows he’s more trouble than he’s worth and he feels sorry for this new bloke that’ll have to room with him for who-knows-how-long. “Sorry you’re stuck with me,” he swallows, keeping his voice low. Mason tries very hard not to be a bother, but he knows, a lot of the time, it ends up happening anyway. He might as well warn the other, so he knows what to expect.

Jamie leaves the lights on and steps inside, briefly observing the place where he’s expected to carry out the majority of his daily activities going forward before his gaze falls back on Mason. It’s like they’ve dressed them with the intention of blending in with the bed sheets, and judging by Mason’s stature he’s trying to do just that, but Jamie’s eyes are attracted to him nevertheless. He looks like he has a story to tell, and if recovery takes as long as he expects it to, he’ll have plenty of time to hear it. “Hi, Mason,” he replies, pacing back and forth between the beds, the small space doing nothing to curb how anxious he’s feeling. “I’m Jamie.” He wants to fidget, but he’s got no pockets and his fingers are bare, so he welcomes the distraction that is Mason with open arms. He folds his arms across his chest, a frown pulling his lips downwards as his eyebrows knit together with confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asks, finding it an odd way to introduce oneself. His self-esteem mustn’t be very good but maybe that’s part of why he’s here, and Jamie’s not one to judge. He thinks being ‘stuck with’ Mason is the least of his problems, anyways. He’s got much bigger things to worry about than the person he sleeps beside at night. “I don’t think I’ll always be a pleasure to have around, either. But it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to. If you like talking, that is,” he shrugs, Mason’s comment already rolling off his shoulders. He sits down, the ancient mattress dipping under his weight, knee bouncing restlessly as he studies Mason with curiosity. He’s got to wonder how someone like him ends up in a place like this. “How long have you been here?” he asks, figuring it’s as good of a place as any to start.

mason-conaway:

When Mason gets the call, he’s sure his heart is going to stop. Jamie’s been in an accident, they say, pausing before they elaborate, and in that pause, Mason is confident they’re going to say he’s gone. Never in the past several years has he pictured what life without Jamie might be like, but for a split second, he has to. He starts crying as soon as they spit out that he’s still alive, that he’s going to be okay. Mason’s going to fucking kill him, but Jamie is alright. He makes it to the hospital in around twenty minutes flat, only by yelling at the uber to fucking step on it. He’s got to see for himself that his baby is still in one piece because Mason physically can not manage without him. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. Now, that he’s had the time to wonder what if, he’s positive he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together without his partner in crime by his side. He’s barely holding himself together now. When he arrives, they say he’s not allowed to see Jamie yet. He’s forced to sit in the waiting room, so Mason takes that as an opportunity to call Aiden, who is out of town on business, but more than happy to listen to him cry on the phone for an hour. It doesn’t do much to stop his anxiety, but it’s nice to have someone he can count on while his one and only is otherwise occupied. It’s another forty-five minutes before they finally give him the okay and Mason is making a mad dash before they’ve even finished explaining what’s going on. What he sees absolutely breaks his heart. His boyfriend is paler than Mason’s ever seen him, the stark white of the hospital evidently holding the flush of his cheeks captive. Jamie’s got a bandage wrapped around his head and his leg propped up ridiculously, but Mason has never been more relieved to see him. He’s breaking into a fresh set of tears as he rushes forward, immediately clambering towards the other in attempt to either hug him or suffocate him. Whichever comes first. The wires from the monitors don’t make it easy, but Mason has never been one to let anything stand in his way, so he wraps himself as best he can around Jamie anyway. The fact that he might be hurting him doesn’t cross his mind. In fact, it would honestly serve Jamie right for scaring the absolute fuck out of him. “You stupid fucking bastard,” he sobs, ignoring the protests coming from the two or three nurses scattered around them. “I told you this would happen. I told you you were going to get yourself killed if you rode one of these, but you had to go out and rent one anyway and now fucking look at you. Fuck you, Jamie. Fuck you,” he heaves, shouting his throat raw into the other’s chest as he grips onto him for dear life. His voice is rocky from emotion, eyes red and puffy after two agonizing hours of being worried sick. “Don’t—” he sobs, sniffling obscenely. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again. Don’t ever—” he shakes his head, not even wanting to think about what could have happened had his idiot of a boyfriend decided against wearing a helmet. He can hardly understand what he’s saying when Jamie finally speaks in return, but a hand on his shoulder catches his attention before he’s able to clarify. “Mr. Conaway, I’m afraid Mr. Black has suffered a major concussion. He’s been having a bit of trouble with his memory,” the nurse says, her voice overly sweet as she smiles politely at Jamie, like she’s trying not to alarm him over the fact that something is very seriously wrong. “His memory?” Mason repeats, lower lip wobbling when he turns to look back at his boyfriend, the confusion in Jamie’s eyes now registering clear as day. He lets out a small gasp and retreats from the few inches of mattress he had forced himself onto. “You…you don’t know who I am?” He asks, a whole new sense of hopelessness washing over him. When Jamie doesn’t reply right away, Mason positively crumples, pressing his face into his hands in hopes of softening the swift blow to the heart he’s just received. He’s shaking with the intensity of how hard he’s crying, desperately trying to breathe in enough air to keep himself together, but to no avail. The nurses all seem to sense they’re intruding on a private moment and file out of the room shortly after, which Mason is thankful for. He doesn’t need any other strangers watching him fall apart. Jamie will hurt enough on his own.

Clearly, Jamie and the beautiful stranger know each other well. While the nature of their relationship remains a mystery, it’s obvious that he cares for Jamie. Nobody’s ever really cared for Jamie, so hes not entirely sure how to react to it. The anger only adds to the confusion, because although it was still Jamie that did something wrong, it wasn’t this Jamie. He’s always wanted to ride a motor bike, so he can see why it’s something he would do. That being said, he thinks that he might do anything this person could ask of him, so he’s not sure why he’d deliberately go against his wishes. He isn’t exactly being crushed by the tiny body that’s made it’s way into his bed, and so he doesn’t complain, figuring he probably deserves to be yelled at under the circumstances. If anything, the physical contact is nice, and he finds himself missing it as Mason pulls back from him and climbs out of his bed. The look on his face is enough to tell him that he’s lost some significant memories, and he hates the way he’s hurt this young man in a matter of seconds. He didn’t choose to forget him obviously, but he still feels guilty about it. He feels bad for climbing on that bike in the first place, even though it’s not a choice he remembers making. He doesn’t want to hurt him any more, so the shake of his head is delayed, but Mason seems to know the answer anyways. Jamie’s sure that when the pain killers start to wear off, the pain won’t even be comparable to what he’s feeling watching Mason break down. The more he looks at him the less he recognizes him, because he’d know if he’d ever met someone like this, and as much as he’d like to force himself to he knows it’s fruitless. Years of his life are gone, at least for now, and they’ve taken whatever time he’s spent with his man with them. “I’m sorry,” he says, shuffling awkwardly closer to the edge of his bed and reaching out to place a hand on his arm comfortingly. “I wish I did. Please don’t cry. They said I’ll probably get all of my memories back again, as time goes on. This isn’t permanent, hopefully,” he offers, in an attempt to cheer him up. It’s the hope that Jamie’s clinging to as well, but on the off chance that he never does remember he’s hoping that Mason will give him the chance to get to know him all over again. Jamie would be lucky to have anyone so concerned for his safety and well-being in his life.

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