NAZARETH

❝ You are loved more than you will ever know. You are loved by someone who died to know you. ❞ — Romans 5:8

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

          Not many things could compare to the feeling of reunion with Mason— it swelled in Skye’s chest like tender music growing, dancing, blooming. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to let it go. She could live without this feeling if it meant she would never have to leave him again. This time would have to be the last. Feeling his hands on her again for the first time in so long only reinforced her determination. As her hands slid around to his back, slipping under the hem of his shirt as they had so many times before in that search for warm skin, she felt electric and at peace all at the same time. And all because of him.

          Letting her fingers fall into place between his, she met his comment with a bright smile, her signature one, just a hundred watt stronger, and no less dimmed by the flowers that soon followed. She’d seen them in her hasty pursuit, a flurry of pretty colours— he surprised her with them, even though she should’ve learned a long time ago not to be surprised by his endless kindness; his generosity and the sort of true good she’d never really known before him, let thought she deserved. “You got me flowers,” she murmured, her voice as mellifluous as they came— as if the rosy colour minted on her cheekbones was tangible in her voice. She accepted them with a glance at her dress, as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing, and then agreed with a nod and a tender laugh. “They do. I like them better than my dress though.” Reaching up on her toes, she placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “I love them. Thank you…” With a beat’s silence and no more, she continued in a playful thrum. “And you think I look beautiful in anything. Or nothing.” Catching his eye, she pushed her brow upwards with a private smile on her lips before following him out.

          While there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for some time alone with Mason at this point, Skye wasn’t too worried— she was still riding the high that came from being in his vicinity again; being able to place her hand in his, or inhale the familiar smell of his skin and feel his stubble against her skin when he kissed her. She could’ve never imagined how much those little things would come to mean— how much she needed them when they weren’t available. “Ideal or not, I’m just glad I’m here honestly,” she said and watched him bring her hand to his lips, a smile brought to hers in an instant. “We have the place alone for a while, huh? I can work with that,” She teased then, glancing down at the flowers for a moment as they walked, her smile only growing. She pulled them closer to her, breathing in the floral notes and earthy undertones. They were beautiful. Stopping in front of his car, he easily snared her attention once more— it never being far away in the first place, his words then curling her lips into a careful smile, curious. “Yeah? Good things about us… Should I know what that means?” She asked, giving his hand a tug to bring him closer, front to front now.

                    “And I love you–” The words found his lips with the utmost ease. It had never been a problem for him to say the word ‘love’, but with her, it was as simple as waking up in the morning; easy, as opening your eyes and taking a deep breath. His life. He was ready to give his entire life to her, “–Makes for a good match, I’d say.” He added after a mere beat, her love for the flowers though, having no about close to that of the zeal he contained for her. On October third of this year, it would be the two year anniversary for when they met. He still felt the same as he had when he met her. Still, more passionate than ever. Her jape about how he adored her, maybe the most, in absolutely nothing, was true. So true, his cheeks melted into a shade of coral and his grin widened, “All right, baby, so you caught me, red-handed, like a damn idiot.” He smiled, eyes vibrant with mirth, “But the matter of the fact is that your birthday suit is by far one of your best designs to date.” The blonde capered, looking over at her as they exited the airport, a lukewarm gust of wind finding their front. It was expected to storm later on. 

                    He released her hand from his own as he opened the door to the back seating of his truck and lifted the suitcase inside, sliding it in. He could hear the testiness in her words; the uncertainty rising in her consonants. The male turned to her, the apprehension mildly apparent on her face, her beautiful features strained with confusion. He wore a small smile, wide shoulders approaching, “I shouldn’t have said anything,” The boy half-apologized, his hands lifting to either side of her face. He held her in his palms, “‘Cause now you don’t deserve to be left hangin’, and honestly, I don’t wanna wait any longer,” The male’s smile widened, hazel eyes scanning her expression, hoping that was enough to reassure her to not be frightened or nervous. Mason looked down, hands falling, moving to her free set of digits, the ones he had just been holding. He held them now again, in-between his palms. They were soft as satin; delicate to the touch, and after a moment of contemplation he looked up, into her eyes, “I love you, Skye. I can’t get over how much I love you,” He looked at her as he spoke, sentiment in his low voice, “–And I don’t know if I’m going to fast with this, just tell me if I am,” The blonde insisted, “–But genuinely, I see the rest of my life with you in it. Through thick and thin,” The male told her, pausing for a brief moment, “And I had a thought, y’know... ‘Why not take her home, see how she likes Texas. See how she likes my family, see what she thinks about the little house in the big neighborhood that I was lookin’ at for the two of us’.” 

                    He nodded, slowly wet his lips before he looked back down at her hand. Her pretty, gossamer hand, “And the more and more I think about it the more I like it... Movin’ away with you, gettin’ a fresh start,” The boy nodded once more, raising his head again, “But I wanna go at your pace. I wanna work with you. And I wanna do what’s best for us. No matter what happens, it’s gonna be with you. I’m not leavin’. I’m not lettin’ you leave.” He’d finished his speech, a jumbled mess it was, but it was all he’d been able to think about over these past few weeks. A fresh start. If she was on a completely different page he’d be heartbroken, but he’d work it out with her. It was Mason and Skye. They had to work it out. He just prayed he wasn’t scaring her off, but after almost two years and what they’d been through, it felt just right. His hold still held onto her hand. Maybe the pull through of an airport wasn’t the right time, but he was happy. He was so happy to be with her and to tell her that he wanted to spend not just the night with her, but years. He smiled, “... Sorry, if that was a lot. But you make me think a lot. About everything.”

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

            Home. That’s what it felt like with Mason’s arms wrapped around her. It wasn’t just familiar and beckoning, but safe and right. She could’ve probably stayed there forever and never needed anything else again— as long as she had him, she had everything. The pads of her fingertips pressed against warm skin at the back of his neck, tingling from the sensation and the welcome, her thoughts nearly lost until he pulled back. The motion was enough to snare a mirroring one from her, her head tilting back and hazel irises lifting to find his. He was beautiful. Handsome. Irresistible in every sense of the word, and he was hers. She could never get over that— and she didn’t want to either. “Not as much as I missed you,” she replied, lustre in every little feature, a warm glow from the inside out as she found solid ground under her feet again, her fingers sliding down his arms to wait at elbows when he kissed her.

           Perched on her toes, her front pressed to Mason’s, it became near impossible to let go again. Every pause, a breath between a second kiss, a third, and a fourth. ‘Lightheaded’ did little to describe the dreamy state of her mind when she forced herself to roll back onto her heel again, lips reeling, begging, aching, missing, pleading. She wanted the world to fall away for a moment; to spare them the time alone they deserved after this long away from each other. It was all there in her eyes, in the curl of her smile as she took him in. Everything she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words to. The smile grew, a sense of disbelief racked up flutter in her stomach. Finally she was back with him, and not just for a week or two.

             “Take me home?” 

                    ‘Not as much as I missed you’–– it sounded like heaven to his ears: the most saccharine hymn he could’ve ever discovered. A characteristic smile began to grow on his lips, lethargic and drunk. He was embarrassingly in love. His hand that had found the side of her face shifted, thumb resting on one side of her jaw, the rest of his digits on the other, holding her, gently and fixedly. They kissed, and again and again, and he could feel the bouquet starting to slip from his other grip. He could’ve taken her, at that moment; led her to a bathroom stall, yank up the bottom of her dress and bury his lips into her neck. He pulled back instead, his free hand, lowering to her neck where his fingertips lightly brushed along her smooth skin. He needed this to be the last time he felt this; the last time she was remelded into his arms, bittersweet as it was to say goodbye to such a powerful feeling. But he had plans for them. Big plans.

                    “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go,” He told her, his open hand finding her own, interlacing his fingers with hers, “These are for you, by the way,” The boy lifted the flowers up, offering them, a closed-mouth smile on his countenance, “They kinda go with your dress, I think,” A pause lasting no more than a beat, “–Which, you look very beautiful in, I must say,” A quick laugh parted his lips, low and hushed, no more than a chuckle. Mason handed them over, and then leaned down, picking up her suitcase before leading the pair out. The sun now seemed brighter than before. He breathed in, chest rising, and then lowering: a huff of air exhaling his lips, “As you know, my livin’ situation isn’t too ideal,” The male spoke, shoulders slightly lifting in a shrug, “But I don’t think the roommates are home right now.” He told her, eyes scanning her face as he lifted her hand up to his mouth, laying a peck on her knuckles, “We should have the place alone for a while, and now that I got you here...” The male trailed off, wetting his lips as he held back a smile, “I wanna talk about some things. Good things. About us.” 

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

Special delivery for @mason-janes;

            It was with airy lightness and a flush of pink across ivory cheeks, that Skye pulled her golden suitcase from the baggage belt and aligned it on the smooth airport floor. Plump lower lip trapped between pearly incisors, she hastily made her way through customs and into the bustling arrivals hall, the bounce in her step paused by a moment of search. Hazel irises swept the many waiting faces, looking for one in particular— honeyed eyes, cutting jawlines and a touch of blonde. 

            There was a sense of red-sea-parting when she finally found him; everyone else around him dimmed and swept away in a moment of exaltation. Narrowing down a rivaling feeling to this one would prove to be difficult, teetering on impossible, and Skye all but left behind everything when she set in motion. A blur of blonde tresses, of long legs and pale pink flowers on a sun-dress. Her fingers unfurled, leaving the poor suitcase to drop onto the ground loudly as she flung her arms around broad shoulders, legs coming together around a familiar waist and lips buried against the safest place she knew— Mason’s neck. 

                    He waited not-so-patiently–– intuitively, as clumps of passengers began to make their way around the corner, two at a time, then three, and nothing. He felt stiff, jaw jutted to the side, chin slightly raised, not that he had to look over anyone. The bouquet of flowers in his hands was held close to his chest: a harmony of pinks and whites and yellows and apologies, for again, letting her out of his range. Something he promised he wouldn’t do ever again. It had been the case as it had been before, her leaving, reasonably of course, for her family, and him working and waiting the weeks away, thousands of miles across the Atlantic. London simply wasn’t made for Mason Janes. Texas beaconed him, and she had to do what she had to do, but it didn’t change the fact that home now felt more lonely than ever. Talking frequently over the phone was now barely scraping by for what he wished was.

                    His hands quickly pulled at the plastic surrounded the bright roses, his head down, only to lift once more and see what he was looking for. There she was. He walked his way through the clusters of strangers, weaving in, then weaving out, meeting her halfway in a collision that may have just made the world halt on its axels. His arms welcomed her, wrapping around her waist as she clung to him, his smile wider than it had ever been over the past two months. His eyes closed, his head furrowed against her collar, and he inhaled her. Skye. He could wade in the feeling that name brought on. He let out a breathy laugh, pulling his head back as he held her close, his eyes scanning her face, bright and green, “My God, I missed you–” He told her, his voice softened with his grin, his hues settled on her as he let her slide against his frame, lowering her to the ground. With a hand on her hip, the other rose to her face, and he leaned in and kissed her.

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

            It was impossible to imagine someone like Mason roaming single for very long at a time, and the thought had arguably crossed her mind too often while she was away. In those times, in the midst of it and so far away— well out of reach of him, jealousy was easy to come across, flaring in her chest, red hot and tangible, but now? A touch of his hand, a look from his tender eyes and it all washed away. How could she ever harbour anything but love for this man? She feared once that it would never change— that perhaps she would end up going through life loving someone who wasn’t hers, someone who belonged to someone else, but he’d breathed hope into her now and she couldn’t imagine letting him go again, not ever. Cupping his face in her hand, delicate fingertips pushing into his hair from his temple, and her thumb tracing his cheekbone, Skye wished she could take some of that guilt and anguish away from him. “That’s okay,” she whispered, stressing the second word, “wanting to forget is normal. I wanted that too— I thought it would be easier to be away from you if I didn’t think about you all the time, you know? But I did,” she confessed, “I still do.” She watched as he looked away, tidy brows lowering while her hand did the same, pausing on his shoulder.

             She still remembered the first time he’d said those three words to her: just thinking about it brought a tremble to her lip, a shiver to her spine, but it would become heavily rivalled by this one moment in the future too— she knew that for certain already. This wasn’t just a first time love, an infatuation or something ordinary. What she felt for him and she knew now he felt for her too, it wouldn’t just go away with time and distance, and instead of cursing the fact, Skye felt relieved— blessed. Pushing up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his and pulled him flush against her, not sure how else to express just how much this meant to her; how much he meant to her. Tender in his hold, in their embrace, pleading for the shelter of his arms around her, she allowed only an inch of space between their chests when she pulled away again. Her eyes were wet, shimmery under golden lights illuminating the shiny lobby that barely existed around them anymore. This was overwhelming in many ways, and when the moment was over, she loosened her hold and stepped back, allowing him the space he deserved. Clearing her throat come conversation, she nodded and reached down for her bag, sagging on the floor by her feet. “Yes,” she answered and wet her lips, letting out a quiet breath, “we do.”

                    The understanding, the kiss–– it felt warm around him, it felt like Skye, like an old memory he’d almost nearly written-off. He took her in like an anecdote, a hand wrapping around her hip, the other resting gently on her shoulder, fingertips finding the soft skin of her neck, and he drank her in like honey. His lips pressed back, his shoulders pushed forward, into her, his eyes closed. He’d wanted this for the longest time, it felt, and though it had been months he wondered, as he embraced her, how he had managed to go without for a week, or a day, or an hour. She felt completely and utterly like home in a place that wasn’t very much home, and he knew, he could be anywhere with her and he’d called the dirt below their feet his. His hand that was on her hip moved up, to the side of her chest as he pulled away, his eyes unmitigated and soft in their mossy hue, on top of hers, merely taking her in; making sure this was indeed reality. To anyone watching, and certainly, a few people were watching, it looked disarranged and odd in the midst of a public setting, something so intimate folding out like a rearranged, intrinsical journal on display. It likely wasn’t the most peculiar thing the hotel lobby had seen on an afternoon in Nashville. He didn’t want to pull back; everything had changed over the course of a few minutes. He didn’t want to let go anymore. But he wanted her alone, and to do that he had to break tangency, if only for a few more minutes. The blonde nodded, the line that was his lips, almost pushing into a smile, but it formulated as a small curve, nearly indistinguishable. The change language really formulated in his eyes, bright now, “Yeah, yeah, let me grab my bags,” His hands pulled down at his shirt, as he looked over his shoulder, mildly shell-shocked, a knot having formed below his belt. He was glad to have received a kiss, to say the least.

                    He gathered his bags, hard to take his eyes off of her as he moved back over, hand adjusting one of the straps, a small suitcase pulled behind him as he moved towards the elevators. He let her get on first, not quite sure what to say, but he knew what he wanted to do, “We’re on the sixth, I think,” The boy pressed the button, watching it illuminate as he pulled out cards, “Fifth–” He corrected, pressing the button below, a light laugh falling out from under his breath, and the elevator rose quick and without stop, luckily. Out the elevator and around the corner and he was sliding the card into place, opening the door and shoveling his way in. It was two full beds, a mini-fridge under the desk, a TV, and a few long windows on the other side that showed a tall, glass-like building and part of the city-scape. He took another look around, dropped his stuff and turned as if to make sure she was still there, “... Is this good?” He asked after a few moments, closing his slightly agape lips, swallowing, the silence of the room deafening, but he only needed his gaze. His pupils, dilated, dropped over her, down and then dragging up. He began to remove his jacket, slow, exposing a tight-fit black shirt and his long, athletic arms, and then placed it on the end of the bed. A moment passed, and then another, and he blinked, shoulders initiating the step before he took it himself and walked over to her, quick in his step, determined with his frame, and kissed her. God, did he kiss her–– his hands lifting up to her face, his mouth parting, the tip of his tongue pushing through her lips to find teeth and flesh, his hips jutting in towards her, pushing her back towards the bed closest to the door. He was famished, and she was what he wanted. 

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

             The fear of losing Mason continued to breathe even after she had already let him go. In her attempt at selflessness, at doing what was right for especially him, she had left and untethered herself, leaving him and everyone else in his vicinity free to do as they pleased. She was okay with it at the time— she still was— because he didn’t deserve to sit around and wait, to calculate time differences and listen to her complain about the rainy weather of England through an unsteady cell connection. Letting him go was the best thing for him, and she didn’t regret it one bit. Seeing him now however, threading her fingers between his and being able to touch him, it made it nearly impossible to remember why anyone would let someone like him go if you were lucky enough to have him in the first place. What if he was with someone else? She thought about that a lot— arguably too much, but while the thought stung and jealousy flared, she could never be angry with him; never hold it against him or make him feel wrong for it.

             It would not cloud her opinion of him or make her doubt his sincerity, not for a second. “Mason,” she whispered, a clarity in the humble sound of her voice as she spoke his familiar name. She looked down at their hands, her petite in his sheltering. She hated imagining his in someone else’s— on someone else, but he hadn’t been hers; wasn’t hers now either. “That doesn’t change anything,” she whispered and looked up, hazel irises steadying on his earthy greens, “I could never hold that against you— no matter what happened when I was gone, it can’t erase how I feel about you,” she whispered, voice quiet but clear, no traces of doubt. His words, so potent with anguish tugged at her heart, and she was quick to quiet him, to bury them. First a squeeze of his hands, a tug to bring him a little closer too and then unwavering eye contact. “Please don’t say that,” she said, “you haven’t done anything wrong, not even once, okay? You could never do me wrong…” She hesitated for a moment, drowning in eyes she had missed more than words could explain. “I love you,” she whispered then, and it still felt daunting to say, more than ever, but true to the bone.

                    He’d felt the guilt of his self-inaugurated crimes on the way to her; had to roll down the window just a crack, letting in the cool air so he could feel like he could breathe. He’d felt it every time he’d come across a picture of her, or gotten a message from her, text and voicemail alike, though her voice had a potency of encumbrance. He wasn’t guilty, exactly, he had not cheated, but it felt like he had, and for what? To silence the whine in his head for a few minutes? To wind up feeling deplorable? The truth was their relationship had ended, but it hadn’t at the same time, lying in the grey area between palpable and phantasmal. Her instant dismissal and forgiveness were almost too much to handle. His hands tightened slightly around her own, his head bowing as if in prayer, eyes shut firm to fortify his sentiment. Veins were prominent against his forehead, his cheeks a lightened shade of pink–– he couldn’t recall feeling this way before. Maybe once, not likely twice, maybe not ever again. His lips parted slightly, breathing in her air, ready to speak, “I guess I just wanted to forget, as awful as that sounds, and maybe that makes me awful...” He told her, lifting his head, quickly wetting his lips before he glanced out the window, “... I just couldn’t–” His addition was snipped, covered by a sharply inhaled snivel. ‘I love you’. It was whispered so delicately, so sincerely, he nearly felt his feet melt into the floor. He held his gaze with her, his hazel eyes, glass, and moss, shifting their mood.  

                    “I love you,” He answered, temperament matching, his voice low but delicate, eyelids drooping into half a blink–– he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. He shifted closer, and the floor could’ve dropped and he wouldn’t have paid any mind, “I loved you... A week after I met you,” Mason continued, “I loved you, and I love you, now, and I don’t think I’ll stop for a long time,” He repeated, emphasis on the present tense because he did. He never stopped loving her, and he’d fallen in a mere blip of time after they’d met, all of this was true. In all honesty, the boy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d think of him after all the months that had passed. If she’d moved on if she’d hadn’t. He felt silly to even doubt it, here with him in front of her, and he so desperately wanted to kiss her, but the room began to return and the chattered noise began to fill his ears. A phone was ringing. He leaned back, hands hesitant to remove themselves from her but he pulled apart. He still didn’t feel worthy. The blonde lifted the back of his palm to his nose, quickly wiping it with his knuckles, wipping off any residing emotion he had with it, something the Janes men were particuarly good at. He stepped back, eventually, hands patting for the room key he'd stuffed in his front pocket,  “Why don’t we uh–” Mason tried, “Why don’t we go up to the room and talk there?” He suggested, his voice still softened and attentive, “We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.” 

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

             A breath trickled inwards, inflating her lungs when he was finally within reach again. Out of sight, out of mind had never applied to him, not even once over the last half year— even with so much else on her mind, he’d been a permanent fixture in the back of it, rummaging, floating, haunting. How impossible it was to forget him, to even think of letting him go. She knew she was selfish to hope there was a chance for her again, but god, being close enough to touch him, to breathe the same air as him again, wrap her body around his, how could she not hope for it? She would be a fool not to, and it was probably apparent to anyone within viewing distance. How her mouth quirked upwards, teeth exposed, hands wringing together nervously, but every cell in her body tuned toward him— like it had been waiting for this every day since her departure. The way she melted at his touch, relaxed in the shelter of her arms, it was almost too telling, and she found herself nearly conscious of it, but not enough to stop muscle memory, reflexes, old habits— fingertips tracing a hem before meeting warm flesh. How many times hadn’t she done that in the past? Slender digits slipping under cotton to find the warm skin of Mason’s lower back? Skye’s eyes closed shut with the familiarity of the moment, the longing, the relief, and she breathed him in. She needed this more than she could put into words, breath catching in her throat and her eyes prickling when the moment came to an end and the two of them pulled back. The absence of his warmth against her chest was overwhelming, the tether made by his hands necessary to stay afloat, and she praised him internally for knowing— for holding on and letting her do the same when her fingers closed around his. His words were quiet but assertive in a way that made it clear he blamed himself for something she could never hold over him— never would. What happened and everything after had been out of their control. “No,” she whispered, downcast irises darting up to find his, conflicted they were, but sure of what she was about to say at the same time. “I could’ve never asked you to— I never would. I never wanted this to be on your shoulders, and I still don’t.” She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go, her own, now freed, finding the side of his face. “But I need you to know that… if I could’ve stayed in New York, with you, then I would have.”

                    They felt intimate, even in the cosmopolitan lobby, alone and unaware, and they deserved it. They deserved a moment after losing so many. He watched her eyes, true and full of sentiment as she delivered her words, ones that struck between his ears and resonated elsewhere. He looked down at her hands in his own, breaking contact, observing his own rough work-ridden hands overlapping her porcelain. He missed those hands. He continued to miss those hands, present tense, and as he held them and she let him hold them that’s what made it ever so more heavy with his self-pertained fact: he didn’t deserve it. His brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly, his thumbs rubbing over the back of her palms, and he looked up, closed his mouth stern and nodded, inhaling through his nose, “I know,” Mason told her, “I know you would’ve,” The blonde nodded once more, singular and certain, pausing, a muddled ‘uhm’ dropping from his lips as he tried to formulate his words, his speach drying up inside of him, “I’m just scared, I guess... Afraid, that you won’t believe me when I say if I could’ve made you stay, with me, I would’ve,” The male realized as he began to tread along his tangent that there was probably a better time and place for it; he could have at least taken her up to the room first, maybe let her get settled, but he wasn’t forward about his guilt from the get-go he’d feel that he would be doing her a disservice, and the truth was he didn’t know how she would react. He pressed on, eyes dropping to her lips and then pulling up to her green eyes again, “After I tell you that I was with another while you were gone. That I was with others–” He half-corrected, though perhaps his grand total of two women that he’d only met with months ago enough times to count on one had didn’t deserve the impending word of ‘others’. He was wasn’t sure what quite to say, but he knew the truth was the best bet, the honest truth, an admitting not only to her but to himself, “I don’t feel good about it. I don’t feel like a good man, and it doesn’t even matter if...–– If you ended it,” The boy stammered, “I haven’t been right. I don’t feel right. And I just want you to know before we even think about movin’ from this spot.” He glanced down, the blow being taken in by his own very words, “I won't do you wrong anymore, Skye.” 

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

            It was the flicker of motion, a blur of golden hair and gilded skin, sharp edges that made up a perfectly sculpted face and those lips… she saw them before her eyes found them— felt them without feeling them, like she had so many times over the last six months, and then there he was. She would’ve thought maybe the tenderness of time had softened the memory, glorified it too, but that wasn’t even close to the case. In fact, the memories hardly did him justice at all. She caught herself staring, her attention snared and held and the moment suspended in time, hazel on hazel and not another person left alive in those few seconds: just them. “Hey,” she said back, the word catching in her throat and her breath the same when her name slipped from his mouth, evocative of everything behind them— the nine months spent together before an entire ocean ripped them apart. “Mason…” It was hard, nearly impossible not to revert back to old habits and jump straight into his arms then and there… But she didn’t. A step forward and another, gingerly meeting him on the shiny floors of a foreign hotel. She had no idea what to say or where to go from there, internally fighting her instincts and insecurities at the same time. So much could’ve changed since they last saw each other— so much had. “Oh, uh,” she smiled up at him, her heart warming at the familiar boyish smile pulling at his mouth, “My trip was good, fine— yeah. Long, but… fine.” She paused almost abruptly, wetting her lips before she continued with a precursive exhale. “I’m sorry, I’m just— I’m really happy to see you again. Can I hug you?” She asked, feeling stupid but at the very least… honest.

                    Her presence came with a dust storm of serenity. More than he had expected, and certainly more than he felt he deserved. She herself was more than he merited, every inch, every look she had given him. It had been a privilege to be with her for as long as he had, and in a way, it had been a privilege to be left by her. It would likely be the only time he would feel such despondency for a person who had actually yet to leave this Earth. He had loved her proudly, and he still loved her, that much was beamingly clear as she stood, finally, before him. She still felt untouchable–– unreal, though her voice, not just static over a line, but in front of him deluged him in the most gracious of ways, all her stumbles, her clipped speak, just as flustered as his very own. His lips instantly curved when she asked if she could hug him, a laugh hanging onto the coat-tail of a breath as he nodded, stepping towards her. The male took her in, stance initially firm but quickly melting under her touch. Her touch. He had missed her touch; how vital it now seemed against the natural light and the buzz of the big lobby around them. How much for granted he’d taken it. His hands pulled her closer, his digits resting gently on the small of her back, moving up as his neck lowered, head burrowing against her neck. His eyes had closed, and he was inhaling her, his brows furrowed, a small vein protruding from his temple. Her hair, her clothes, her skin. It was a raw emotion taking root in his heart, enclosing its clutches with the grace of her touch. Something where men, where he was from, didn’t very much like to admit to feeling: an intimate weakness. Mason felt enervated against her, and he wanted to be. Moments passed, and then more did, and he finally began to pull back, his jaw bushing against her cheek, one last touch, the corner of his mouth grazing against the soft indent of her temple. His hands found her own, his hazel eyes canted down on her soft features, “... I should’ve come to see you a long time ago,” He admitted, giving his head a shake, disappointment in his tone, “I should’ve made it work–”

[mason-janes]

SKYE.

             The jingling, jangling and cheerful Christmas songs on every radio station were just as annoying this year as the years before, and yet at the same time a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of a home that wasn’t really Skye’s in the first place. She was grateful for her dad and his wife, but at the end of the day, she felt more like a guest than a family member in their house, and that was the last thing she wanted right now. Driving down to Nashville was a strange experience— not so much in itself, but the feeling. She spent most of it in denial about where she was going, or more accurately… who she was going to see. Nearly six months had passed since she saw his face last, the real kind, not the pixelated two-dimensional one, and she wasn’t sure what it would be like seeing it again. Breathing him in, having the rasp of his voice vibrate through shared space. The thought made her skin flush lightly, her spine shivering when she looked from the message on her phone and to the spectacular, well lit glass facade of the hotel he was waiting in. I’m here, she wrote and slipped her phone into her purse. She didn’t dare scan the glass for his face, not yet, keeping her eyes on the entrance as she came to life. Once inside, she paused, taking everything in for a moment before she found the courage to look for him, hazel irises trekking across the lobby, searching for broad shoulders and clear cut features; the epitome of a god on earth. 

                    ‘I’m here’. She was here. Feet away, inches away, a few steps in one direction and he would be able to say that he’d seen her again, here, in a place both strange to them. He rose from his seat, and took a few strides to the center of the very large room, his belongings, the least of his worries now as they sat keeping a man in a suit company. His eyes carried, shifting from the café at the end of the walk, then over to reception, and finally, the front door where he spotted her. He stood in a brief slumber, shoulders canted to one side, lips falling apart. She looked the same–– beautiful as ever, her blonde hair tied back, a familiar winter coat wrapped against her frame. He snagged himself out of his stupor with a step forward, and then another, catching her gaze in a strike of flint against tinder. Four hazel eyes. The boy felt out of breath, “Hey,” He slid his greeting under an exhale as he neared, not even quite sure if she could hear it, his digits nervously joined in front of his stomach, “Skye,” At the sound of her name enunciating from his lips he blinked, briefly looked her over, an assurance that this was, indeed, not a mirage, “How was the–...” He mumbled, trailing off, clearly stuck on something before his head dropped and fell into a subtle shaking motion; contrarily the corners of his mouth pulled up into a boyish grin, an absorbing smile of delight, his eyes glassy with something unutterable, “Sorry,” He apologized, looking up, his Texan accent having been reinvigorated with his move back home, “How was your trip, is what I meant to say–”

[mason-janes]

@skyecasal

                    The long drive had given him ample time to think. He departed on Monday, stopped in Little Rock for the night, and drove on Tuesday morning into what was known as ‘Music City’. He was anything but melodic. This moment had been all he’d wanted when he was in New York, but after moving home; moving on to other things, and now finally reaching it, he was blank in thought. All he could envision was her face: shades of her expressions that he knew too well. He’d made reservations at The Omni, a onerously priced place, but he wanted something nice for her, with valet-parking at the front entrance and a grand lobby that suited the emboldened aura of the city directly surrounding the lot. Eyes widened as he entered, mouth slightly agape as he took in the tall ceilings, and proceeded to check into their room–– double-bed, just in case. He removed his phone from his pocket, dodged a family of four with a luggage cart, pulling his own suitcase along, and found a seat by the tall windows that peered out onto the main drive. He sent her a message: I’m here in the lobby. Have you gotten here yet? He felt precarious for her arrival.

[mason-janes]

EMMA.

Agitation and anxiety had Emma’s body frozen, rigid in the set of her shoulders and the clench of her jaw; the only movement came from her hands, perched upwards as she toyed nervously with the locket at the end of her necklace — a gift from Kit. Luckily the maniacs from N.E.T hadn’t taken that from her in their heist. She was alone in the party, the former colleague who had invited her as a plus one schmoozing in other areas that were foreign to the brunette. Although she had integrated back into high society rather nicely, the familiarity of a house party was a pool she hadn’t yet dipped her toe back into. And for good reason. Alcohol was fine to her, a stimulus she could handle, but after walking in on a girl doing a line in the bathroom, Emma’s hard work seemingly went out the window with the autumn breeze. She managed to find a seat to retreat to in a calmer area of the social setting, but she was still alone — until pressure settled down on a seat near her. A scapegoat. Breathing a sigh of relief, Emma spoke, almost pleading; “Can you talk to me? About anything. Anything at all.”

                    It was a friend of Skye’s that had invited him to the get together–– a coworker that had been close to her, and thus had seen him quite frequently, enough to reach out to him after Skye had quickly left. They’d kept in touch, but not enough for Mason be surprised to get an adjoining invitation to a party she was going to, somewhere in Brooklyn, maybe Manhattan, he didn’t know. But he ultimately decided to go because it was his day off and he didn’t feel like sitting at home doing much of nothing in a quiet apartment. It was a nice party, one where people were dressed up semi-formally, and a party where he didn’t seem to get the memo that this was the case. He was all blue jeans and a t-shirt amongst button-ups, nice cashmere and autumn dresses. The male settled on a glass of champagne, out of sorts against his tanned hands painted with a residue of baby blue paint and work. He’d painted a room for an expecting couple yesterday, chambray blue, they’d wanted, for their little boy. He took a seat, on the end of a sofa, scooting enough away from a pristine-looking couple that seemed highly attuned into their conversation, and briefly turned his attention to the brunette that sat on the other end, adjacent. ‘Anything’. It was an odd request, but he wasn’t going to deny the one person who’d tried to speak to him since he’d arrived, “Uh–” He mumbled, exhaled, settled on the first thing that came to mind, but certainly not the best, “The Saints. They’re lookin’ pretty good this year.”

[mason-janes]

CECILIA.

“To the sea,” she said in reply to confirm her request, or to relish in the fact that he complied to it so fast — No objections or reservations. Cecilia always considered herself low maintenance, but there was something really nice about him not questioning this, but agreeing instead. A challenge was always good, thrilling even, but the give and take was the best part. 

Sinking into the seat with a light sigh, she gazed up at the blonde male and comfortably allowed her thigh to sit against his with a brief smirk attached to her features. “Not The Eagles?” She said and felt the static in the air, electricity from where his arm rested against her leg. The Eagles or not, she was surprised that it was that kind of music he listened to, and not in a bad way. She had expected something more millennial, because that was usually what people listened to now unfortunately. In other words, the surprise was pleasant, if not slightly puzzling at the same time. “I have heard of them,” she confirmed. She remembered the CD’s lying around at home, her parents listening to them when she was very young — When things were still okay at home. “Seventies music isn’t really my forte, but I definitely know of them,” she added with an inconspicuous chuckle. “I’m surprised though.” Looking up and over at him, a smirk filtered onto her features with the tiniest bit of mischievous brewing in her eyes. “But maybe I shouldn’t be.”

                    A first touch, one she hadn’t pulled away from, his arm resting against her bare leg. It spoke without speaking and it stimulated him, thinking about how it might not be the last. He could already tell he could get along with her, and that he would, even as they hit the broad road and met the wide sea. He began to pull out of the parking lot, looking both ways and getting the clear before he made a turn right, “Then what is your ‘forte’?” He asked, looking over at her, the female close, close enough to where if he leaned in anymore he’d likely feel her breath on his own lips. His foot pressed on the gas, his eyes gandered, from the green, green eyes she bore down to the faint lines that grew outward over the pink, plumpened flesh of her mouth, “Tell me something that’ll surprise me,” The blonde tested, bringing his eyes back to the road, the setting horizon in view, the guitar plucking, the raspy voice of Knopfler against the beat. He knew what she meant when she said she was surprised, that maybe he’d blast some Kanye or another sleazy rapper doing a half-job, but he’d never taken to that. Not even as a teenager, but he never grew up in a place that embraced the mainstream media. He grew up in a time capsule compared to most and within his father’s old CD collection.

                    He pressed his foot on the gas, the engine roaring, the pair only ten or so minutes off from the coast. It would go by fast, but he wanted to get there: to park and watch the low tide roll in for the last few minutes of the golden hour. He decided to try and swerve the conversation, onto a current track, “Y’know, that was awful brave of you to take me up on this offer,” He smirked, glancing through his rearview, and then over to her, his tongue dragging out across his bottom lip, “What made you say yes, huh?” His low timbre played out velvety and boyish, his southern dialect in a swing as he started asking the question that maybe neither of them had a coherent answer to, “–– Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you did.” He told her, a beat passing, “I mean... You know who the Dire Straits are and you’re about the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a good while. I just hit the jackpot.”

[mason-janes]

JUNE.

“Oh come on, you never know. There might have been a few sleepy fish down there looking for an easy meal,” she said, knowing that they were probably more than awake after listening to her talk, and now long gone, searching for a less deadly meal probably. “Well, or a spare tire yeah,” she added, laughing with him. It was easy and comfortable, and it sort of reminded her of meeting new people abroad — Of her years spent in Europe, all the locals she had met and had pleasant and spontaneous moments with like this one. It made her miss it even more, but also made her feel better about being ‘stuck’ in Lanford. At least there were people here still worth getting to know. “You think so? Well, let’s hope he does, then I won’t feel as bad for contributing,” she jested. Happy that he seemed so confident, she laughed lightly and nodded with pleasure. “That’s good. Someone should rival me and my never ending stream of words.”

Tracking Eugene’s whereabouts with her eyes, the small tortoise not exactly hard to find, or the kind of pet you had to worry about running off, June smiled and nodded. “Yeah,” she confirmed and looked back up at the blonde again, “Well, I work two places. I don’t bring him with me when I waitress at Muncher’s though, but I do when I work at the flower shop in Haverford. He loves it.” At least she was confident that he did, though it could be her projecting it on to him. “Aw that’s too bad, but also the right thing to do then, if you don’t have the time. At least you have one waiting for you at home. Where is that again? Somewhere in the south?” She guessed.

                    “And those spare tires have quite the appetite,” He jested, a smile on his lips as his gaze fell back down onto her, the girl in the grass, her own gaze on the tortoise that appeared to have not moved an inch just a few feet away. The boy listened, something he was rather fond of. He believed there was a lot that could be said about a person that could shut and listen. Really listen; be interested in the other. You had a lot of people willing to talk a lot about themselves and not enough asking. The male, reeling in his line a little more nodded, “Muncher’s, huh?” He repeated, “I haven’t been there before, I’ll have to go sometime. Hopefully, you’ll be workin’ when I do,” The boy smiled, looking out across the lake, taking into account of the second job as she spoke of it, “Oh, I know he loves those flowers. I bet he sees it as his very own buffet in there, hold the lettuce for Mr. Earl–” He smiled, nodding up, glancing at her, his expression smooth and wide, train of thought breaking, “... I know what he’ll have to say, but you tell me: what’s the best thing on the menu at Muncher’s?” He asked, curious, “I’ll order it when I go. I like to have an ear in before I go eat at places anyway.”

                   As she inquired about where he lived his expression smoothed into a slanted grin. He loved being asked about home. He loved thinking about it; he loved talking about it. His digits rotated the line in a foot or so, grip easing, “It’s Texas. Magnolia, Texas,” He began, “It’s about an hour north of Houston, a little more inland.” The blonde spoke smooth, his annunciation soothed and of heat–– mirroring his home, one that had withered in his voice as he’d lived north over the years, but it would always remain, always growing back to its potency whenever he ventured closer to home, “There’s not much to do there. Not like here, at least, but it’s damn pretty in the fall when you got all the leaves fallin’ and horses are out grazin’ in the fields.” He paused, turned his head over to face her, "What about you? Where are you from?"

[mason-janes]

SASKIA.

Saskia sat on a park bench, slowly rocking Nora in her arms. A car alarm had gone off in the middle of the night, and the baby had been cranky ever since. And while a public park seemed like an odd place to try to make your child sleep, it was far quieter than their own neighborhood. “Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly,” she sang as Nora’s lashes fluttered shut. “If birds- oh shit,” Saskia groaned as her elbow made contact with a sippy cup and pushed it to the ground. She looked around frantically, both embarrassed by her word choice and hopeful that someone nearby could help her. “Excuse me,” Saskia called out to the person nearest her, “could you please pass me that cup? She’s almost asleep and I’m afraid to move,” she pleaded.

                    He’d been aware of the woman and baby as much as anyone would’ve: given a glance, a smile, and then minded to themselves. It was cooler out, dipping down more into the sixties with each passing day, and he wouldn’t have chosen to sit outside, but with the take-out restaurant so packed within he figured he’d fare better on the table under the awning. ‘Excuse me’–– the words caught his attention rather quickly, burger half-way to his lips as he looked over, “Yeah,” He spoke, brows furrowing, as if it was a given that he would, “Yeah, of course,” He repeated, keeping his tone hush, quieter than before upon realizing the infant was near asleep. The blonde got up, his meal still in hand as he reached down and brought the cup back to the table top, up-right, the face holding the child more familiar with each passing moment. Perhaps he’d seen her before, in a shopping mall, at the grocery: around. He gave his head a quick nod up after he sat back down, a small grin on his lips, curious, “She’s awful cute.” He smiled, inquiry resting on his tongue, “How old is she? If you don’t mind my askin’.”

[mason-janes]

SIERRA.

                   Almost every morning Sierra went for a run; one that circled through the lake and Haverford, around the back of North End and then straight back home…. Most mornings, that was. She allowed herself a few days here and there, but the run was for more than just her physical health. While she liked to keep fit, it was just as important to keep her mind clear… Free of as much stress that life threw towards an individual, away from the high-pitched cries of a baby who knew no better and freedom from the prison that her own mind created. Running was more than exercise, it was an outlet, one that kept her from the demons that lurked beneath her skin. Today it was no different, her usual good mornings and breakfast, then braving the venture out even if the weather was teetering on edge of cold. Sierra had only been out for an hour, half walking, half running, when her usual route took her out of the front Mason’s place, a man she had barely known a year ago. In many respects she still didn’t, but his friendship with Adam and their few encounters had proven to be entertaining. He was a good guy, no matter what had happened in the past.

                   Unlike the years before, Sierra was out of shape. It was self inflicted, but she was happy and okay with losing a little bit of endurance if it meant spending more time at home. Still, it didn’t make for a good feeling having to stop half way through, struggling to breathe normally as she granted herself permission to use his front yard as a resting place for a few moments. The brunette had spotted him in her line of vision and collapsed, back on the grass as his footsteps settled not too far away, keys dangling above her head. “I need new lungs—-” She groaned, taking them from him without a moments hesitation. “Thanks, I won’t be long…” And with that she hauled herself up despite the pain in between her joints, dragging each one of her legs into his house and finding the kitchen to fill up a glass once, then twice as she downed the original. Then, five minutes later she was back on his porch, keys being thrown in his direction as the woman finally took refuge on the edge of one of his steps. “I need to work out more…” Her breathing was still a little erratic, but nothing of what it had been before. “Thanks, what you working on?” She asked, nodding towards the bike. “Never seen you on one of those before.”

                    He shook his head, amused at the scene: Sierra, breathing hard, standing before him, strains of her dark umber hair from her ponytail loose and on the run across her forehead. He knew the taste, and it was a good one, feeling like you’d actually done, and it appeared she had. The male allowed her to take the keys, an entrustment in her, one not many held from him. He certainly wouldn’t have let just anyone into his home, especially now, feeling so empty and inhospitable in some ways. He wanted to move, soon, to somewhere nicer and bigger, and he wanted to and to do so quickly, but his lease wasn’t up quite yet. December though would embark an adventure, and he thought about it, briefly, working on his bike as she went in and came out what felt like just a few moments later. He dried his hands on the towel beside him, looking up into the bright sun, at her, recognizing the glass from a set his mother had purchased for him before he’d taken his initial move to Nashville, three years ago on the dot. He nodded up, shifted his gaze back down, a smile on his lips, “Do you?” He asked, letting out a small laugh, genuine, a reserved compliment in its most diluted forms, for she certainly didn’t look like she needed it from his eye, “From the sound of it earlier that might’ve been enough of a work out for the whole week.” There was the essential caper.

                    He started wiping down the shock absorber, and then to the rear tank, looking for a glisten. He took her observation with a grain of salt, another small laugh as he moved onto the exhaust pipes, “Maybe you don’t hang enough around me, Moore,” The boy japed, an eased smirk on his features, though he spoke more earnestly with his next words, “But uh– no, matter of fact is I haven’t been on it as much as I should.” He told her, giving his shoulder half of a shrug, “I mean... I took Skye out on some rides a few times over the summer, but I haven’t touched it in a while since then. Figured, y’know, better get some use out of it before winter rolls around,” He continued, glancing back up at her before he stood, taking the rag with him as he cleaned his fingers, knuckles, and bone and grease, “You ever been on one?” The blonde asked curiously, not quite sure if he’d peg her as a girl that either liked the idea of motorcycles or hated them. It usually was either-or with her, black and white.

[mason-janes]

JUNE.

“Really? Wow, that’s really impressive. I think. I mean, I don’t actually know a lot about deep sea fishing, and if catching lemon sharks is normal or not, but it sounds impressing to me,” she admitted. “I wish my grandpa had come with me today — He would have loved everything about this conversation.” Laughter parted from her lips and her eyes shone with mirth just thinking about her grandfather when someone talked to him about fishing. “Your dad sounds like a solid guy though. I mean, that’s such a dad thing to do, right? Bring up the lemon shark when you have company, especially if it’s a girl.” She chuckled, trying to imagine what her own dad was like. Not that she needed him though, whoever he was and wherever he was. She had been blessed with two loving and responsible grandparents instead. “Oh I will tell him,” she said and lit up at the compliment minted on her grandpa, “It’ll make his day I’m sure.” When he actually encouraged her to talk his ear off, laughter rumbled and parted from her lips, “You want me to talk your ear off? Doesn’t that lower your chances of catching anything? And please, it would be great to have my ear talked off for once — I mean, if you can get a word in edgewise,” She joked.

“Nice to meet you Mason,” she said and smiled, reaching up on her knees to grab his hand and give it a shake before she sat back down on her jacket again, mindful of Eugene’s whereabouts on the grass. “No — No other pets, only the Earl of Lettuce. I was gonna get a dog, but then I found this guy instead, and he can come with me to work, which is a huge plus. What about you? Any pets waiting at home?”

                    He smiled, ear to ear, perhaps a little too wide, perhaps enough to scare whatever measly fish that had dared to test his line off and back to the reeds. It had grown with her complimentary talk; her nods here, her subtle agreements there. Easy speak. A laugh sputtered from his parted lips, the male giving his head a quick shake, “I don’t think I was gonna catch anything anyway,” He stated, slow, eased in his southern drawl, “Maybe a boot... –A nice spare tire,” Mason japed then, glancing over her way, as his hands pulled the line in closer, giving it a sharp, but smooth tug. It was soft moments, with the sun pulling down like blinds, that he wished he’d gotten out more, if just to enjoy the withering summer heat. His eyes remained planted on hers, only pulling away to glancing down, over at the turtle, half in gesture, half in inspection, “I think you’re leavin’ our man out of the equation here. He might out-talk us both,” His caper rang boyish and sweet: perspiration on the back of the neck, the scent of fresh-cut grass and new mud. Boyish. The blonde held a smile, looking back out towards the small lake, “I’ll get a word in. Believe me now.” His assurance was cadence and unfurrowed, his grin leaking through his tone.

                    He pulled his hand back after the shake, down, back to the rod and the turn on the side, fingers long and relaxed. He’d expected her to have another pet, one other at least, for he figured, if you had a turtle you must’ve had a collection. But he was mildly surprised when she said none, more so when she said she was allowed to bring the tortoise to her work. His brows lifted at the comment, chin turning back, gaze settling on her once more as a momentary silence eased from his still lips, “To work?” He spoke, questioning her with a faux interrogation, all low chuckles on the inside, “Where in the hell do you work?” The boy added, a laugh leaving with it, completely taken by her at the moment: a peculiar soul, in the most immeasurable of ways. He shook his head, “No, I don’t. Don’t have the time for one, but I’d love a dog. I have one back at home, an old lab now. We named him Bear.”

[mason-janes]

CECILIA.

Maybe it wasn’t so much about figuring him out, decoding his taste in music and pairing it with kind of man he was — Although that was certainly part of it, but more than anything, he was a stranger, and sharing even one of her favourite songs with him seemed still too intimate. An intricate girl she was when it came to certain matters, and then not at all when it came to others. He believed her when she said she wasn’t like most of them, but she wondered if he would come to think of it as a bad thing. Perhaps he would, or perhaps she would never see him again after today. Oddly, she was fine with either one of those options. At least for now… Fast forward and hour, and she might end up feeling differently. When he asked where she wanted to go, urging her to take at least some control, she smirked and walked up next to him. “To the sea. I want you to find a good spot overlooking the sea.” An earthy gaze, emerald and golden, lifted to his honeycomb hazel and quirked a brow. “I see enough bars as is. Find us a spot by the ocean for just the two of us and I’ll be impressed.” She rounded it off with a smile, this time a little larger, potency tugging at her mouth and exposing her teeth. 

Accepting his helping hand when getting into the car, she seated herself and tugged her hair loose from behind her, making sure it didn’t catch between shoulders and seat, and instead letting it gather down one shoulder. “Oh yeah?” She asked when he told her she could sit in the middle instead, a smirk flirting on her features. “Well, don’t mind if I do then.” She chuckled and scooted over, thigh against thigh, the denim of her shorts riding up a little. When he pressed play on the music, she sat there for a second without saying or doing much, her eyes squinting a little. “What is that?” She asked, genuinely not sure. “Eagles?”

                    She wanted to go the sea, s-e-a, he almost asked, as if it had been an error, or a tangent, or something along those lines. Almost. His brows raised instead, in a boyish speculation, head falling slightly to one side. It wasn’t the oddest request, but it was out there, literally, it would certainly take up to half an hour to hit sand and ocean, but he was a man of his word. And he wasn’t given a certain time that he needed to be back, necessarily. So, he let out a mild laugh, upon soaking in the sudden earnestness of her request, lifting a hand up to his cheek, scratching at it briefly: a tick of mild thought, “... Alright,” He nodded, pulling his gaze back up, up to her green, green eyes, “To the sea.”

                    He watched the sudden smirk, falter onto her lips at his request at scooting closer, his top row of teeth sinking into his bottom lip as she did just that. His gaze was warm, centered and earthy brown as they inched up her bare thigh, suddenly pressed to the hem of his jeans. There was nothing but solace irradiating off of him, certainly pleased, as his knee stretched out in achieving a comfortable position, bumping eminently into her own. He laughed at her guess, his shoulders jutting upward with the rattle, “Eagles?” The blonde restated, head turned in her direction, his smile widening, crooking his grin, “No, no, it’s not The Eagles,” He continued, glancing back down at his phone as he set it in the cupholder in front of him, his bare forearm, resting against her leg: warmth, skin, and bone, an intended touch, “But you’re close. It’s the Dire Straights.” Long digits shifted, up to the stick gear, though his arm still lay against the smooth skin above her knee, “You ever heard of them?” He asked, eyes flickering over her as he began to reverse, palm lifting as the other wrapped around the wheel, resting on the headrest behind her as he looked over his shoulder through the rear window, “I like ‘em. They’re good cruisin' music, had their heyday in the seventies–” A beat, “But if you know something about The Eagles I’m sure you know a thing or two about that.”

[mason-janes]

HUNTER.

“Whatever dude.” Hunter said with a shrug, motioning him off, “thanks for being the convenient excuse, really appreciate it.” More than the blonde man probably knew, but he didn’t want to explain, didn’t really feel a need to, “hope that tastes good.” 

                    “Yeah. Will do.” He keened, glancing over his shoulder as he began to turn away, detaching from the situation. Albeit, he did feel mildly bad. He was sure of it: a drug deal on the rise, and though Mason certainly wasn’t a user or a condoner of anything narcotic, it boiled down to a guy just trying to make his money, “––Thanks, man, take it easy.” The blonde added, sensibly, giving a small smile, making his way back to the boutique.