hey pooks so for some reasons im leaving this acc soon 🥹 if you want to stay in touch my new main is @svnsetreader but if you follow me for a specific niche ill be at @forzawirtz for liverpool stuff and @redsmount for mase 💗
a/n: not as deep as i like to write but i’m just testing being back, getting my brain to work and all that
word count: 3.4K
The house was silent and dark, but you were used to it by now. The quiet pressed in like a second skin, the stillness that once felt like peace now stretched into something heavy and cold.
But it hadn’t been like this when you first moved in with Mason.
Your relationship used to feel cosy and warm, like sunlight during the first hours of the day, golden and touching everything with ease. You used to reach for each other without thinking. Now, even breathing in the same space felt strained.
Was it your fault that you both had, apparently, grown cold? And more importantly, could you still fix it?
Because, to be honest you couldn’t imagine a life where Mason wasn’t tied to you anymore. Not literally, but in the quiet, essential way that someone becomes part of your foundation. You’d built your life intersected with his — shared routines, favourite recipes, whispered plans in the dark. How do you unthread yourself from someone you made a home out of?
You didn’t want to be someone who wasn’t related to this gentle, kind and pretty man anymore.
—
It wasn’t Mason’s intention to pull away from you, to create a distance. He’s not sure how this happened, why suddenly the pair of you seems to be separated by an invisible wall, and he has no idea how to fix it.
Maybe it was a combination of actions that led to it. Maybe the pair of you got a bit cold when he didn’t show up at an event you asked him to go, and then a bit colder when you chose to see a friend instead of attending his games.
Things you could talk it off, he’s aware, but are always the smallest details, the ones we usually don’t care about, that trigger something bigger.
He wonders if he realised it too late. If it was his fault. Has he damaged your beautiful and delicate relationship?
Mason knows that every couple has difficulties at some point, hard moments, miscommunication. But he always believed, genuinely, that it wouldn’t happen to the pair of you.
Now he understands why some people love each other and still can’t figure it out. Even when he clearly sees that something is wrong, he can’t find the solution. Or the strength to address the problem.
He can’t figure out how to go back to how it was before.
—
As the days went by, the shift in your dynamic was even more visible. It almost felt like you were running from each other and this feeling started to annoy you, and you hadn’t expected to confront Mason about the situation so soon, knowing that he’s been working so much and having stressful days, but it just happened.
He came home from his training session and you had just finished work for the day, wanting nothing more than to eat dinner and get some rest, but this thought was gone when he slammed the front door and went upstairs, his steps loud enough for you to hear.
You didn’t mean to follow him upstairs since you weren’t sure of how to deal with his emotions anymore, but your feet were already moving before you even registered the decision, and by the time you stopped, you were standing in the doorway of your bedroom, arms crossed, watching as Mason tossed his gym bag to the corner like it had personally offended him.
“Rough day?” you asked with your voice low, testing the ground.
He didn’t answer right away. Just pulled off his sweatshirt and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to you. His silence filled the room like static.
“Mason,” you tried again before you could lose courage. “Can we talk?”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, bitter and short, and stood slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Do we have to do this tonight?”
“I didn’t plan on it,” you replied, your voice tighter than you meant. “But you slammed the door like I wasn’t even here. Again”
He flinched a bit, and your heart sank. A part of you hated the idea of hurting him, but a bigger part hated how long you’d both been pretending.
“That’s not fair,” he said, turning to face you. His eyes were tired. “I’ve just come from training with bad news, I’m exhausted… ”
“I’m exhausted too, of pretending everything is alright. Of pretending this dynamic makes me happy, that this place makes me happy”
“It doesn’t? Being here with me doesn’t make you happy?”
You shook your head, afraid this talk could go in the wrong direction.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all” you sighed. “We don’t spend time together anymore, we don’t talk, we don’t hang out, and I just feel like I’m mourning someone who’s still alive.”
The words cut as they left your mouth, but they were the truth. You felt like a ghost in your own love story.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like every sentence he thought of would only make it worse.
And then, finally, he admitted quietly “I don’t know how we got here.”
Tears welled in your eyes, uninvited. “Me neither. And that scares me.”
He sat back down, this time facing you, his hands clasped like he was holding something together. “Maybe it started with small things. I missed your thing. You missed my match. We both said it was okay when it wasn’t.”
“I look at you and it hurts. I think I’m losing you, and I don’t even know when it started. You stopped showing up,” you said quietly. “It’s like there’s no time for me in your life anymore.”
“Well, sorry I didn’t make you my centre-fold, Y/N,” he snapped.
That was the moment the collapse began. His words were a gust through the fragile structure you’d both been pretending was still standing. He regretted them instantly, but the damage was done.
You were both quiet for a beat too long.
Then you said the one thing you hadn’t wanted to say:
“Do you still love me?”
Mason blinked. “What kind of question is that?”
“A real one.”
He stood and crossed the room to you slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. “Of course I love you. But I don’t know how to fix this. And I don’t know if you still… if we’re still home for each other”
And there it was. The worst part.
You nodded, barely, your heart thudding like a second heartbeat in your throat.
“Maybe love isn’t always enough,” you whispered, and his silence broke you more than anything could.
Mason realised your expression, but it was too late.
“No, Y/N… I’m sure we can…”
You weren’t there anymore, turning around and leaving the room.
—
Mason tried to sleep that night, but every shadow looked like you, and the silence sounded like the echo of your voice. He kept going over the argument in his head, wondering how he’d let it get so bad. How he’d let you slip through his fingers.
He knew he had to fix it. The words he said to you weren’t the words a man says to the woman he loves, and he knows he should’ve made you his centerfold.
After all, this isn't exactly what a relationship is? Prioritising the other person — more than that even, relying on them.
But you didn’t want to talk, and he couldn’t force you to. Not if he didn’t want to make things worse.
So instead of begging you to talk to him, he got used to waiting for you at the fireplace. Everyday, he would come back from training, take a shower, grab food and get comfortable in the living room, hoping you would get downstairs at some point.
He wanted to talk with you more than anything, but every night he was faced with silence – and the guest’s room locked door. It was frustrating, but more than that, it hurt.
It hurt deeply that you apparently didn’t want to fix it. Every hour without apologising, every night without sleeping with you next to him was killing Mason, and the thought that you weren’t as sad as him was like a knife twisting in his chest.
He knew he was wrong during the fight. He knew you wanted to talk and get through what you’ve been facing, and instead he got defensive, but he was scared, he admits.
You’re his first real relationship, the woman he loves most, and yes, he was afraid an adult and serious talk could make things go wrong without realising they already went wrong.
—
A few days after the fight, you were surprised by a new post on United’s socials announcing a new deal with Mason.
And it hit you like a truck.
Of course you were happy for him. But the realisation that he didn’t tell you nor asked you about it…
He was obviously too deep in his own world to notice that you were struggling. That, maybe, you would’ve told him you’re not happy in Manchester when asked about a contract extension.
Instead, he once again acted like he went to Manchester by himself, not wondering your thoughts and feelings about this new place he made his home.
You held your breath when he came downstairs, waiting for him to drop the news at you, but he just went to the kitchen. Once he was back in the living room, all dressed up and looking prettier than ever, you tried to shoot him a smile.
“Congratulations on the new contract” you said, and if he noticed the questions in your tone he didn’t show, smiling back at you. “Are you going out?”
“I can stay” he told you, and you gave him a proper look since your fight. He did look sad and deflated, tired and hopeless eyes looking back at you. “Like it’s nothing serious- just this internal award”
“C’mon” you smiled again. It was nice to see that he wanted to deal with your feelings just as much as you do. “I wanted to talk today but we can speak later”
“I’ll be home before ten” he told you, and you could see him fighting the desire to get closer. “We can talk then, if you’re awake”
“Right. Don’t get too drunk” you tried to joke.
Mason just nodded, and the room went silent before que left.
You had a lot of time before he came back, so you took your time to organise everything. You were surprised and taken aback, yes, and things hadn’t been exactly good between you both, but the renewal still meant a lot for him and you knew how hard it had been since the first day.
So you picked all the ingredients to bake him a chocolate cake, with white and red decorations.
And you waited. But Mason didn’t come.
—
Mason didn’t notice he had forgotten until it was too late. He was sure it would be a small thing for everyone looking from the inside, but for him it mattered.
The room had been filled with people clapping and smiling, and he stood under the spotlight, holding a little trophy with his name on it — an internal award for commitment and excellence, something small but symbolic. He had laughed a little during the speech, thanked the coach, the physio, even some teammates.
He said all the things they wanted to hear, all the names they expected. But not yours.
Not the woman who stood by him through the injury, who moved cities with him, who knew every version of him.
He only realised it on the way home when his Uber driver congratulated him and asked if his girlfriend was proud, and Mason just stared at the window, unable to answer.
His chest tightened. What the hell was he doing? How have things gotten this far?
—
You didn’t grab anything. You weren’t sure where to go, since all the people you can trust were still in London, and everyone in Manchester was more of Mason’s friends than yours.
So you just drove around without a destination, his face everywhere in your thoughts.
That’s how it was supposed to end, then?
You didn’t want to cry, but the tears blurred the streetlights anyway.
This is all you ever wanted and knew, a life with him, and still you managed to lose it. The ache in your heart grew stronger, suffocating.
It was safe to say that you wouldn’t notice it even if you were in a normal state, with how fast the ungoverned car showed up.
Between one heartbeat and the other, your world went silent.
—
It was way too past ten when he entered home, quietly to not wake you up. He had accepted the guys’ offer to stay a bit more and ended up losing sight of the time.
But as soon as Mason entered the kitchen, he was sure he fucked up. The white cake with red hearts and a little toy of himself told him he fucked up.
“Babe?” he called you, but didn’t receive any answer. Of course not. “Y/N?”
The silence started to freak him out, the anxiety creeping in, and sobriety kicked him instantly.
“I’m home. We can talk now” he tried again, opening the bedroom’s door just to find it exactly how he’d left.
He was just about to text you desperately when his phone rang. Despite it being an unknown number he answered immediately, with his heart already in his throat.
“Mr. Mount?” a feminine voice said, and he knew by the formal tone that it couldn’t be good.
“Yes, this is him” Mason grabbed the phone harder, already going downstairs.
“We’re calling from the North Manchester General Hospital, you’re listed as Y/N Y/L/N’s emergency contact” the strange voice kept talking. “She’s been in a car accident this night…”
And just like that, the rest of the words blurred.
Mason’s ears started ringing, his pulse rushing loud and fast. He couldn’t process anything beyond car accident and emergency contact, and he felt like something was taken out from him; his heart now felt more as a dark hole.
His first instinct was to ask what happened. The second was to blame himself.
And the third was to come running to you.
He didn’t remember grabbing his coat, or locking the door. He just remembered the feeling — like something had been torn open inside him. The fear is losing something so important and special.
The drive was a blur of red lights and panicked breathing. He kept replaying the last conversation in his mind: he told you he’d be home. But he wasn’t.
And he’d always bit himself up for this. He couldn’t imagine the pain you’ve felt with a broken promise. Another one.
When he got to the hospital, the sterile lighting and antiseptic air nearly knocked the wind out of him.
“Mason Mount,” he said breathlessly at the front desk. “I’m here for- for Y/N Y/L/N”
“Right this way,” the nurse said, softer now. “She’s in observation. The doctor will be with you soon”
He followed in silence, fighting to catch his breath.
Then he saw you, and realised he wasn’t ready to see you like this — pale and hooked up to monitors, a small bandage on your forehead, dried blood near your hairline, your arm in a brace.
You looked so fragile. Exactly like the woman he swore to protect and then forgot to do it. Nothing like the person who’d stood so firm in front of him only days ago, demanding to be heard.
He sat in the chair beside you and took your hand carefully, afraid to disturb you.
When the nurse left, Mason took a moment to look at you and remember why he spent the last three years in love with you, every single detail about it.
His chest felt about to explode — sadness, regret and love, all of them mixed inside of him — and he squeezed your hand a bit tighter.
“I didn’t know how to fix things,” he whispered, voice thick with guilt. “But I should’ve tried harder, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m so sorry I only looked at it and told you I didn’t know how instead of finding out”
Your fingers didn’t move, and he closed his eyes when the machines beeped softly.
He pressed his forehead against your knuckles.
“I don’t want to know who I am without you” Mason murmured, getting closer so he could rest his head against your thighs.
It was still dark outside when the doctor finally walked in. Mason had barely moved from the chair beside you. Every shift of your hand, every beep on the monitor made his stomach twist.
“She’s stable,” the doctor said gently. “She has a mild concussion, a fractured wrist and some bruising on her ribs, but no internal bleeding. She’s lucky. Very lucky.”
Mason only nodded.
“She might wake up in a few hours,” the doctor added. “There’s no sign of permanent damage.”
But something inside him already felt irreparably broken.
—
The first thing you felt was pain.
Not sharp, just a dull, steady throb. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the blindingly white room hurting your eyes.
The machine’s beep annoyed you a bit, and you were definitely overwhelmed with the access tugged at your arm. Everything made you want to scream at the same time you had no strength for it, but then you saw him.
Mason was asleep, or maybe just frozen, in the chair beside you, his hands clutching yours like he was afraid you’d separate them.
For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. But your head ached too much for dreams.
You didn’t call his name, didn’t even move. You just watched him a little bit, this being the closest you’ve been for a while, and wished you hadn’t had almost died for him to be there for you.
—
You weren’t sure what was worse: the moment the accident happened or the days that followed it. The endless check-ups, the heavy silence between you and Mason, the ache in your chest that had nothing to do with your bruised ribs.
He stayed with you the whole time. Bringing books, making awkward jokes, and even bringing you a ridiculous amount of hospital pudding. He never once asked for forgiveness — he just stayed by your side.
And maybe that was his apology. Showing that he was acting differently instead of just saying he would.
Now, walking slowly out of the hospital under the gray Manchester sky, your hand in a brace and your heart still hurt, you stopped at the edge of the parking lot.
“You okay?” Mason asked, gently.
You nodded before hesitating. “Mason…”
He turned to you instantly, like his name in your mouth was enough to summon every ounce of his attention, his eyebrows furrowed before they softened.
“I’m sorry… I just don’t think I can go back to the house,” you said softly, letting him embrace you.
He looked down, nodding before you even finished.
“I know.” he circled your waist with more pressure, and you let yourself rest against him, your head finding his shoulder.
“I need time, a bit of space. I’m not saying it’s over, but… I think we need to start again. Like, really start again. From a different place. Maybe even different cities.”
His throat moved like it hurt to swallow, and you felt your heart tightening.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
“You already did. A little bit,” you replied, not to punish him, just to be honest. “But I still want to find you again.”
He nodded slowly before kissing the top of your head. “Then we’ll find each other. Even if it takes time.”
You exhaled, looking away. “You once told me we were the kind of love that could survive anything.”
“I still believe that,” he said. “Even now.”
And you believed in his words, because no matter how far you’d drifted, you still carried pieces of each other everywhere.
So you stepped closer and raised your head, pressing a final warm kiss to his cheek
—
The text arrived on a Thursday, a few months after you left Manchester. Three, to be specific.
And even after this time away from him, your heart still raced when his contact popped up.
pookie 🧸: i’m sitting on a bench in Coney Island and something is missing
pookie 🧸: do you know, by any chance, where’d my baby go? x
Something in you ached, and you knew the decision was made before you actually realised it. Your heart always spoke louder than your brain.
This time, the ache in your chest didn’t feel like mourning.
It felt like something beginning again. It was time to come back home.
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