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.”
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.”
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