Without being aware of what woke me up, my eyes opened. I blinked a few times, confusion drawing me to glance at my watch; it was only eight am. I squinted into the light emitting from my wrist and suddenly remembered the events from the night vividly. With this, I realised what had woken me up.
Noises came from outside my room. Mason had clearly woken up, because I could hear him muttering to himself, along with the sounds of activity coming from the other side of my door. Recounting the night, my heart rate picked up and nerves appeared in my stomach. I took some deep breaths, though, and swung my legs off the edge of my bed. After allowing myself a moment, I headed out of my room.
Mason was leaning against my kitchen counter, his head in his hands. The bottle of water I'd left was next to him on the counter, as was a half-eaten apple. He was mumbling to himself, clearly unaware that I was standing there. So I cleared my throat softly.
His head snapped up, and his appearance shocked me. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot and dazed. He frowned, opened his mouth, shook his head, and closed it again. He looked confused, half asleep, and, strangely, a bit angry.
"Beck," he said, his voice husky and strained. "I'm so, so sorry."
I tried to ignore the pit in my stomach as I walked closer, stopping on the other side of the island. From closer, Mason looked so much worse. Swallowing, I thought of how to reply.
Eventually, all I came up with was, "What happened, Mase?"
Mason lifted his hands to his head as he shook it. A loud sigh escaped him and as he lowered his hands, the grimace on his face became apparent.
"God, I don't..." he trailed off, shaking his head again. I realised that I'd misplaced the anger I'd seen on him earlier. It wasn't aimed at me, but rather himself. "I was so stupid."
He started sliding down my counters, disappearing from my sight as he reached the floor. Pity washed over me, my stomach clenching at how despondent he seemed. I moved around the island and hesitantly lowered myself down next to him, not really sure how to deal with this situation. Flashes of us cuddling on the couch made me shy all of a sudden: I'd been able to deal with him then knowing the state he was in, but this felt like an entirely new ballpark for us.
Looking at him, I wondered how much of the night he remembered. He was staring at a patch on the tiles to his side, his legs sprawled out in front of him. I heard him take a deep breath and looked back at his side profile.
"It was this club opening â or closing, maybe, I don't even know â and I agreed to go ages ago," he said, his voice soft. It felt like I was holding my breath as he talked. "We got there and Liv..." he sighed, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. "I just hate those kinds of things, so I drank way too much and Liv was preoccupied so I left, without all my shit, obviously."
The defeat in his voice made the pity I'd just felt intensify tenfold. I wanted to comfort him somehow â take his hand, pull him in for a hug, anything â but I remained motionless at his side, fighting my better judgement.
"I'm really sorry you got dragged into everything, Beck." Now, he turned his head and met my eyes. Maybe it was due to his hangover, but they were filled with vulnerability. "Liv really shouldn't have called you. And you shouldn't have had to deal with me. Fuck, I shouldn't have done this in the first place."
"It's okay," I murmured gently. His face was contorted with distress; I was worried he'd start crying if he kept on speaking. "I get why she did."
Something flashed across his face for a moment, but it was gone before I could figure it out. I remembered Liv telling me Mason mentioned our fight: I wondered if he was thinking about that now. Clearing my throat, I twirled the ends of my hair.
"Uh, how much of it do you remember?" He sighed again and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I just... you were pretty out of it when you arrived."
From the set of his jaw, I knew there was a lot he wasn't going to tell from the night. And I didn't expect him to, no matter how much I wanted to know. Maybe if the circumstances were different I would have pushed him more, but I knew a line had been drawn after everything, one that didn't seem appropriate to cross.
"Um, not too much," he admitted after a pause. "I guess leaving, and then arriving here. You called me, right?" I nodded and he sighed. "That's a bit of a blur. Shit."
He slumped forwards and buried his head in his hands again. Swallowing hard, I found myself unsure of what to do. I waited for Mason to say something, or do something. But he said and did nothing, leaving us in silence. Unable to take it anymore, I cleared my throat.
"What's going on, Mase?" I said the words quietly, but Mason turned his head towards me the slightest bit. "Because I can't imagine you doing this to yourself with everything going on. We play Champions League in two days."
As soon as I mentioned football, Mason raised his head again. I'd never seen him look like this before: not just this bad, but this deflated. He shook his head and let out a deep sigh.
"There's no way I'm training today." His tone was final, dismissive, and shocked me down to my core.
"What do you mean? You have to," I said simply, too surprised to say anything else. He shook his head again.
"I can't train, Beck. I don't think I've ever felt this shit in my life."
"Well we have two hours," I blurted out. "We'll get you home so you can shower and I have painkillers and we can get you a green juice or something. But you can't miss today, no matter how bad you feel."
I was starting to get worked up, and the short exhale from Mason told me he was, too. He could be stubborn at times, but I was just as persistent when it came to important matters, so I was willing to fight him on this.
"Look, this is a mess," he started, lifting his hands into the air. I didn't let him finish.
"A mess because you got drunk."
"I know this week is important but it would just be a joke if I went today."
"Take a painkiller and get over it; you have to be there!" I threw my hands into the air. Mason studied the floor between his feet.
"Hart, I can't."
My frustration boiled over at his crushed tone, forcing me to stand up. "You're a fucking idiot, Mason."
"I know that!" he practically shouted. I stared down at him in shock as he winced, rubbing his forehead over what I imagined was a sore head. "I know, Beck."
"Obviously something else happened last night," I said, trying to calm my voice. This caught his attention, and he looked up at me, wide-eyed and dismayed. "Because I don't believe that you'd just do this for no reason. But you have to sort it out another time."
Mason rolled his lips into his mouth and averted his gaze once more. Feeling too dominating stood over him like I was, I lowered myself onto the floor opposite Mason. Leaning back against the counters behind me, I waited for him to say something. When he didn't, I encouraged him by bumping my foot against the side of his softly.
"For real, what's happened, Mitchell?" I wondered carefully. "You can't keep avoiding talking about this." When he didn't reply, I added, "If this is about the other nightâ"
"It's about a lot of things, and I don't feel like getting into them right now."
Hurt flared up in my chest at his harsh words. I pushed it aside, though, and let the previous frustration I'd felt towards him reappear. I looked away, clamping my jaw shut to prevent all of the things I wanted to say to him from spewing out in one long line of abuse.
"I need to get home," Mason commented, slowly climbing up from the floor. I didn't look up him, but saw out of the corner of my eye when he reached for the water bottle on the counter. "Charge my phone so I can call the gaffer."
I stood up, too. There was a sudden strain in the air between us that was becoming more and more familiar as of late. I hated it. I wanted to say something more, try and fight him on his decision more, but in my heart I knew it was pointless.
Once up, I kept my head down and my arms crossed as Mason moved around my apartment, I assumed putting his shoes back on that I'd so thoughtfully taken off the previous night. It was strange how the intense care I'd felt a couple of hours ago had diminished so much. Yet, despite the way Mason was acting now, I could still feel it deep down.
When I eventually did turn around to look at the lounge, I met Mason's eyes. He looked apologetic, and rightly so. I heard him sigh from where I stood and waited for him to say something more.
"I really appreciate all of this." He sounded the most sincere I'd heard him all morning. "I'm sorry for... yeah. I'm just sorry." He shrugged as he trailed off, examining the floor beneath him instead of looking at me.
"I'm sure you can show yourself out," I said coldly, turning away towards my room.
"Don't be like that, Hart."
Once again, a sting in my heart accompanied his words. This time I fed off it, though, and spun around to face him.
"Don't be like what?" I asked bitterly. "I'm not the one that's being selfish here. You went and got drunk three days before a Champions League game, Mason, and you're the one missing training because of it."
His shoulders slumped at this. Staring at me blankly, he shrugged.
"What do you expect me to do?"
I shook my head in frustration, clenching my hands into fists. Taking a breath, though, I felt my anger diminish into pity once more.
"Nothing. I just thought you were better than this, that's all." The look on his face guaranteed that my words had hurt.
He looked away. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, Beck."
With that, I watched him walk to the front door in silence, still seething. He turned to look back once he'd pulled the door open, but he didn't say anything. Once he'd left, I furiously wiped away the angry and confused tears that had leaked from my eyes. I wasn't about to let Mason make me cry for the second time in three days.