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Corey finds a letter inside a book.
He’s at Pendragon Books, letting his eyes and his mind drift over the fiction shelf, running along each cracked hardback spine and imagining whole worlds from just the titles and their fonts.
My American Poetry
First Edition
It sticks out to him in the way a bright red flower on a dark green bush would. It’s leather bound, black embossing against a brown cover, mixed in with new fiction and older style books. Looks almost brand new.
Corey slides it off the shelf, unbinds the strap around the cover. If he knew any better, he’d say it was a journal, but when he opens it he finds pages of stories and poems, written in delicate ink with beautiful handwriting, and Corey is starting to think that it wasn’t meant to be shelved in this bookstore. He flips through the pages, and something flutters out from between them and to the floor.
It’s a loose page of paper, like notebook paper ripped from an actual notebook, and it’s folded in half.
He picks it up, examines the writing on it and unfolds it. It’s a letter.
My Darling , it starts.
How does it feel to know I am unruly over my love for you. As Honoré de Balzac wrote to his Countess Ewelina Haska, “ I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them. I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you.” Perhaps one day we could be as legendary as Honoré and Ewelina…
Corey stops reading. He shuts the letter back inside the journal and snaps it shut. It’s too personal for him to be reading out in the open like this, so he tucks it under his arm and keeps going.
There’s a new guy behind the register. New as in he’s been here a month, but Corey has never really talked to him outside of greetings and goodbyes. When he places three books on the counter to check out, he places the journal next to them.
“This was on the shelf and uhm… I don't- Well it doesn't seem like something you guys would sell? More… personal stories and stuff?” He taps the cover, and the new guy picks it up. The name tag pinned to his apron says Isaac in scratchy uppercase handwriting.
Isaac turns it over in his hands, before opening it to look at the tiny handwriting inside. “It was in fiction?” He asks, and Corey nods. “Thanks for tellin’ me. I’ll uh- see if I can find who dropped it off.” And he tucks it underneath the counter.
That's as far as the interaction goes, but Isaac smiles and waves when Corey leaves and Corey lets the red door close behind him feeling a little bit better than when he woke up. He thinks maybe it’ll be a good day.
+++++
The last time you came to see me
There were anchors in your eyes,
+++++
Corey was wrong.
He hates today.
It started raining as soon as he left the bookstore, and he didn’t have a chance to stop for breakfast because he missed his train because of the rain so of course he’s in a horrible mood.
Professor Stragheim has been going on and on for two hours at this point, and he’s slowly starting to lose his mind. He loves Creative Writing, really, he does, but he would rather be anywhere else than on campus right now.
He sinks into his seat, focusing on the sound of the rain hitting the roof. His eyes shut on their own.
“Just stay still… don’t move. You’re gonna be okay…” a gloved hand wipes his brow, and Corey can’t feel it but he recognizes the shadow behind his closed eyes. Their voice, whoever it is, is soft and comforting, but all Corey can focus on is the pain blossoming through his abdomen. It drags through his torso, and another scream erupts from him. He doesn’t know where it comes from, never thought himself capable of making this sound, but it happens.
“I didn’t see him! I didn’t see him! I’m so- I’m so sorry!” Someone else yells out, but above his own voice and the wheels of the gurney accompanied by the frantic footsteps around him, it’s stamped out against his ears.
“Hey…” a whisper comes from beside him, and Corey peeks one eye open. The boy that sits to the right of him nudges a notebook closer towards him, filled with notes on the next assignment. Corey pushes his hair back with his palms and exhales, sitting up in his seat. “I figured you’d probably need ‘em cause you were… asleep…” The boy whispers again, and Corey takes the briefest of moments to look at him before looking away.
“I wasn’t asleep… but thanks.” He takes a quick photo of the page, and his seatmate pulls it back towards himself. It’s another quiet few moments, but then he leans back towards Corey and asks “Are you okay?”
Corey nods, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“As for this next assignment… this will be a partnership. Turn to the person next to you… you two will be spending roughly the next six weeks creating a tragedy reminiscent to that of the classics. Shakespeare, Sophocles, Beckett, Müller… Aristotle. The list goes on. Write me a tragedy so profound, modern or classic, that it literally brings a tear to my eye.” Stragheim announces, and there's a few soft chuckles throughout the lecture hall. Corey, on instinct, turns to his right.
He sighs, “Guess we’re partners…” and his seatmate smiles but it doesn’t seem genuine. “You sound disappointed.” “No. No I’m… just a bad day.” He extends his hand, “I’m Corey.”
“I know…” his partner laughs, but then he reaches out and shakes his hand, “Mason.”
Mason smiles softly, and his hand is just as gentle, and Corey finds himself smiling back.
They exchange numbers, and Mason asks “Do you wanna… meet up at the library this weekend? How ‘bout Saturday? We could get started…” He tilts his head forward, almost like they’re in a secret meeting. Corey nods, but then he sighs, “I uhm… I have a doctor's appointment on Saturday morning but… I’m free after three?”
Mason nods with another smile, like he’s happy just to be making plans. “Physical?” He mutters as he writes it down on his calendar app and Corey falters, “Sorry?” he asks around the breath caught in his throat.
“Physical? Like a… check up?” Mason’s grin falls slightly, and Corey exhales and nods slightly, “Something like that.”
+++++
Hardback books in your posture
+++++
Eight minutes.
Corey’s feet fall hard against the belt, he feels his heart racing in his chest and sweat on his brow.
Nine minutes.
His hands shake, so he clenches them hard, before hitting the mile button in front of him one more time.
Ten minutes.
A hand rests across his lower back, and another one reaches around him to lower the mileage on the treadmill to a walking speed. “Slow down there tiger. We’re only trying to get your heartrate up, not running ten miles.” Dr. Geyer chuckles, helps adjust him back to a walking pace.
There’s a burn in his thigh and his belly, but he doesn’t say anything when she asks “Pain level?”
Corey shrugs before placing both feet on either side of the treadmill and stopping it. “Like a three? I don’t know it kinda… stings but it’s not bad.”
Dr. Geyer doesn’t look like she believes it, because she tilts her head and raises one eyebrow, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “Corey… remember what we talked about. In order to fully recover, you have to be honest with me. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”
Right. No need to lie anymore. No need to hold back. He’s not with his parents anymore.
He sighs, rubs his eyes with his fists. “Six… mostly just my stomach.”
She nods and marks something down on her board, “Have you been using the gel we talked about?” She asks, motions for him to follow her back towards her office. “Every night… just like you said.” He mutters, pulling at the hem of his sweat soaked t-shirt.
“And what about seeing someone?” “Like… a date?” He furrows his brow, and Dr. Geyer laughs. “I mean a therapist…”
He groans, drops down into his usual seat across from her desk. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll have a few nightmares… but I’m okay.”
And that is precisely the answer she was not looking for if the way her face drops means anything, “Corey. You went through some traumatic-“
He cuts her off with a shake of his head, “Yeah yeah, I know. I went through something traumatic and I need to learn how to deal with it but not on my own. I’ve heard the rant. What happened to me sucked . But I’m not gonna start crying everytime I see a car or a fire. I’m fine.” He steels his jaw, almost expecting her to do something about it. Instead, she shakes her head and looks over at her desktop computer.
Then she reaches for a sticky note, writes down a name and a number, and then sticks it in front of him. “This is the number for a colleague of mine. I need you to see him if you want me to keep treating you. Your body won’t heal if your mind doesn't.”
And when Corey doesn’t say anything, is too distracted by her threat to stop seeing him, she says “Go talk to him. Even just once. Then call the office and set up your next appointment. I mean it, Corey.”
He really doesn’t want to lose Dr. Geyer as his physical therapist. She’s one of the best in Seattle, to the point where her wait list for new patients is longer than her list of actual patients. He’s only been seeing her for six months, but his pain levels are nothing compared to what he was feeling before this.
When he gets up to leave, he croaks “See you soon Dr. Geyer…”
“Hey, Corey!” She calls after him, and he stops with his hand on the door handle, already pushing it open. When he turns back she says “I’m not trying to overstep but… maybe seeing someone, you know not a therapist… would be good too.”
He chuckles, smiling to himself, and nods. Then shuts the door behind him on the way out.
He has approximately twenty-six minutes to make it to the campus library, but at the rate the train is moving, Corey feels like it’ll take forty. There’s this overwhelming urge to text Mason and cancel, to say sorry doctor's appointment ran long, we might have to reschedule.
But this is a six week long project and if they don’t start it now Corey is never going to want to start it.
He drags his feet across the damp cement towards the library, taking his time but making a good pace.
Mason’s at a table towards the back of the second floor, a stack of classics and a laptop in front of him. He’s typing quickly, eyes rushing over the screen, completely zoned in. Corey sits in front of him, and when it doesn’t seem to get his attention, leans down so his face is somewhat in Mason’s peripherals.
“When did you get here?” Mason smiles when he finally notices, and Corey can’t help but snort. “Been here the whole time, what’re you talking about?”
Mason laughs, and it’s charming and adorable and Corey thinks this might be the start of his first real friendship.
Mason pushes his books to the side, pulls his legs up into his seat and sits cross legged. Then, he swings the computer around to face Corey, “I already have some ideas but I want your input first…”
Corey hesitates, pulls his hands into his lap, “You want me to… look over it?” “Or if you have any ideas just.. throw ‘em out. I figure we can use this session to brainstorm, and make a decision by our next class.”
It’s small. The smallest amount of decency that Mason could show him, but Corey’s breath catches and he narrowly avoids choking on his own spit. It’s been three whole years since the accident, since being constantly drowned in people making his decisions for him. What doctors he was going to see. Where he was going to live. What school he should go to. What surgeries he would need.
But Mason pushes the laptop closer to him, with the “add collaborator” option up for Corey to add his information into. Mason doesn’t know him. Doesn’t know what happened or who he is, and Corey knows that he’s just being friendly. Being the nice guy that he seems, but it makes him happy. Glad. Giddy.
Corey writes down a couple of ideas and pulls the books he bought from Pendragon the other day out of his bag.
They work not quite silently, but almost in-sync, and Corey falls into a peaceful rhythm. He decides to call that therapist Dr. Geyer recommended. It’ll be good for him.
+++++
You were the five star general of sureness,
A crisp white tuxedo of a man
+++++
Corey finds another letter in a book. He’s got half a clementine in his backpack next to his history textbook and his heart pumping wildly in his chest. He’d practically sprinted here from his apartment, absolutely needing to ask Isaac about their classics section.
Isaac had pointed towards the section with a smile, but there’s a cloudy look in his eye that Corey doesn’t ask about.
Oh lover , this one starts with instead.
How daring has it been for us. My very existence. My beautiful love…
That’s as far as Corey gets. It’s tucked inside a copy of To the Lighthouse, one of his favorites. He considers, and instead of putting it back, stacks it on his small pile.
“All classics today?” Isaac asks, entering each price into the register. He picks up To the Lighthouse and examines it, and Corey secretly hopes the letter doesn’t fall out. But then he sets it in the bag with the others.
Corey nods, stutters “Uh… yeah. Hey uhm… did you ever find who that journal belonged to?” He asks, knocks his hand against the wooden counter as Isaac swipes his credit card.
Isaac makes a noise, sticks his tongue in his cheek, “Nah. It’s kinda hard to track who donates what ‘cause we don’t exchange credit for it.”
“People just… donate their books to you guys for free?”
Isaac nods, and his smile comes back. “We donate a lot of them to kids and families and stuff but… yeah pretty much.” He hands his card back towards Corey, before reaching for a book underneath the counter and holding it close to his chest. “Did you need something else?” He asks when Corey doesn’t move to leave.
Corey shakes his head taking a step back from the counter, “No. No uhm… thanks a lot.”
This time, Corey has nearly thirty minutes before class. He stops for coffee, forgoes breakfast for his half a clementine as a snack, and considers texting Mason and asking him if he wants anything. He doesn't, and something in him churns, but he pushes it away and only orders one.
The rest of the walk to his lecture hall includes dodging puddles and trying to drown out the cars honking behind him. Eventually he puts in his headphones, turns the volume of his music up all the way, but he doesn’t pay attention to what’s playing.
Mason is sitting on the steps outside the lecture hall, texting someone quickly and with a furrow on his brow. He doesn’t say anything, but he smiles in greeting when he looks up, before immediately going back to his phone.
Corey sits down next to him and pulls one earphone out, figures waiting the next fifteen minutes with someone he thinks might be a friend is better than by himself.
After a few more minutes of silence that isn’t really silent but rather filled with the sounds of traffic and texting and Corey's faint music, Mason puts his phone away with a sigh. He turns towards Corey, eyes the coffee in his hand, “Is that a Caramel Mocha for me?” He asks, and it takes longer than it should for Corey to realize that he’s joking. Instead, he stores it in the space at the back of his brain where he keeps all the important things and pretends like it means nothing.
“Oh it's just uhm… it’s just plain black.” He stutters, but extends it out for Mason like an offering. Mason wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, and then says “I don’t know how you can drink that…” and, “It tastes like jet-fuel.”
Corey laughs, a little too loudly maybe, but the moment gets interrupted when a group walks past them and into the lecture hall. Corey watches them walk in, and then looks back at Mason and points behind himself, “That was unlocked?”
Mason smiles brightly, crinkles forming around his eyes, “I was wondering why you didn’t go inside” and Corey feels his face heat up a bit.
+++++
I was fiddling with my worn coat pockets,
Puffing false confidence ghosts in the cold January air
+++++
Corey shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, wiggles his fingers against the seams and then drags his nails against the pads of his fingers.
It’s five past six. His appointment was set for six. He wonders if maybe this was a mistake, maybe he should just leave before the doctor comes out and he’s trapped for an hour being forced to spill his fears and his nightmares to a stranger.
But before he can, the door to the office opens and a red faced young woman steps out, followed by an older mustached man. She turns, hugs him tight around his neck and says thank you and Corey’s heart pounds hard.
After she’s gone and the front door is shut behind her, Dr. Newton turns towards him and smiles, “Corey? Are you ready?”
Corey hesitates, but then he pushes himself up with his hands on his knees and follows the man back into his office. It’s simple, a brown leather couch and a big black rug in the middle of the room, what Corey would expect from a therapist's office. But there are photos of Dr. Newton and what Corey assumes are his family on the walls, and colorful canvases around them, and a big bookcase filled to the brim against the wall.
Dr. Newton introduces himself with “By the way… no relation to the famous Newton” and somehow that raises a chuckle out of Corey. “So tell me a bit about yourself…” He asks simply once Corey sits, huddles in on himself on the couch. “What like a… dating profile?” He mutters, but Dr. Newton smiles and looks at his lap.
“Jenna Geyer did say you were a little apprehensive about therapy… can you tell me why?”
Corey shrugs with his hands in jacket pockets, before sighing and saying “I don’t- I’m fine. She’s just making me come here…” Dr. Newton tuts, “Okay… you’re seeing Dr. Geyer. She’s a physical therapist. Why are you seeing her ?”
He hesitates, draws his shoulders back with one big inhale, and pushes back into the couch cushions. “I was uh… I was in a car crash. Two years ago.”
“Is that it?” He asks, his mustache twitches with his upper lip and he raises his bushy eyebrows.
Corey wishes that was it .
“I was in a car crash when I was eighteen. The car- the gas in my car combusted and there was a fire. Twenty-five percent of my body was covered in third degree burns and I’ve spent the last two years in and out of hospitals and doctors offices. And every time I even close my eyes it’s… I get nightmares.” He rushes out, tries not to fumble over the words but ultimately fails when his breath catches in his throat and he chokes on his own words.
Dr. Newton sits back in his seat, doesn’t say anything but he looks at Corey like he’s waiting for the rest of the story.
“My parents were fighting. Which… I mean that was usual for them but- I went on a drive. To get away from them. Or to clear my head. I’m not really sure what I was doing. I was turning…” he closes his eyes, remembers turning his wheel, “left. I was turning left when a driver ran the light. I don’t really remember a whole lot after she hit me-” It’s a devastating lie that taints the air, “But the driver's seat was crushed before it burned. Honestly… I shouldn’t have gotten out of that conscious, let alone alive.”
He cuts himself off, knows he really shouldn’t be saying all of this within the first ten minutes of meeting the man, but Dr. Newton hums and writes something down on his clipboard. “Do you think… your reluctance for therapy stems from thinking you should’ve died in the crash?” He says like it’s not some insane query, and Corey tilts his head. “I don’t- I don’t understand…”
“Well… this idea that you shouldn’t have survived… It's founded in fear. It’s a real fear formed from a real incident but… you’re scared to admit that. Scared to say it outloud to somebody other than yourself, a professional even, and discover that your fear is not irrational.” He leans forward, sets his clipboard aside.
Corey looks away. Digs his nails against his palms and takes a short breath in.
“Corey… everyone is afraid of something. We all have irrational and rational fears. Like walking on a balancing beam for the first time. Imagine you step onto it, feel the metal creak under your feet, and that scares you enough to get off. To not walk across the beam. But you don’t know if you were going to fall anyway. That’s irrational. But say you feel it and you keep going. And you do fall, and it’s still scary, but because you’ve experienced it, you know that for the next time. That’s rational… And eventually you lose your balance. You always will, but you’ll be ready.” There’s a tone in his voice, one that Corey is sure means none of this is your fault but his head swirls with what ifs and he’s having a hard time really sorting it all out.
Corey doesn’t know how to respond either. He takes in a shuddering breath, fights back the burning in his eyes.
Dr. Newton sighs when he doesn’t say anything, leans back and looks down at his chart. After a few more tense moments, he says “How about we change lanes-” and then he stops and mutters “poor choice of words. How about we change subjects, and you tell me more about yourself . Like… you’re twenty. Which means you’re probably in college? You go to the state school? Or the community college?”
“UW. University of Washington.”
“And what’s your major?” Dr. Newton asks as he writes down notes. “Engineering.” “Oh. That’s a great career. What’s your focus?”
Corey swallows hard, hesitates before answering, “Fire protection engineering.”
Dr. Newton doesn’t say anything, but he does nod like things are starting to make sense. Corey sighs, “Listen I know it’s… ironic. But it’s what I wanted to go into before the crash. Now I just have a purpose for it.” “And what would that purpose be?”
Corey shakes his head and waves his hands as if it’s obvious, but Dr. Newton tilts his head and furrows his brow.
“I don’t want anyone else to feel the way I’ve felt for two years”.
+++++
My hands were shitty champagne flutes
brimming with cheap merlot
+++++
He’s got another half-clementine in his bag the next Tuesday. He ate the first half when he woke up the night before from another nightmare. This time, the fire catches too fast. He’s pinned in too tight and there are flames not only at his feet but at his torso and his arms and his face.
He’d woken up sweating bullets and with orange behind his eyes.
Corey stops by the coffee shop, picks up a black coffee and a caramel mocha without really thinking.
Mason lights up when Corey sets it down in front of him, and his frown immediately flips into the widest grin Corey has ever seen. “How did you know what coffee I like?” He asks as he takes a sip, smearing cream on his lip. Corey laughs quietly, and then whispers, “You told me last week.” “I didn’t think you were listening…”
I didn’t know I was either.
Corey turns away, pulls his textbook and his notes out, tries not to focus on the way Mason is looking at him.
If Mason were the sun, Corey would be burning again. He’d feel the fire on his skin, but he wouldn’t care this time. Wouldn’t actually feel it, but would recognize the warmth and the lick of the flames and only feel comforted.
It turns his stomach over four times before he feels even slightly normal again.
He pulls the baggie with his half clementine out of his bag halfway through the lecture, turns it over in his hand instead of pulling it apart. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, especially now that he’s in class, so he holds it out to Mason, offering it as a peace between them. Mason hesitates, but then he takes the bag by the top. He smiles, and then sets it down in his own bag.
It keeps going like that. For weeks. Corey orders two coffees and Mason takes his clementines when he doesn’t feel like eating it. When the orange of the peel makes his skin itch and he’s still shaky around the edges.
But Mason…
Mason always handles him with gentle hands, even on the days Corey doesn’t necessarily feel like talking. On those days, Mason takes charge, asks for input and advice on the important things, but double checks every decision he makes during their next session. Corey’s grateful, even if Mason doesn’t know why he’s so withdrawn, because it just means he’s genuinely good.
And on the days Corey is quiet, Mason talks enough for both of them. He usually does. He’s loud and boisterous and the complete opposite of what Corey is. The exact definition of who he used to be.
Mason is an Animal Sciences major. He has one brother named James, and his best friend since they were kids is named Liam. He’s got a dog that doesn’t necessarily have a name because each of his family members calls her something different, and from what Corey can gather, his family is normal. They don’t argue every night or have some tragic past event that endangered someone’s life.
Mason is normal and he’s good and he’s beautiful. He is untainted by flame, and instead pressurized in water.
Corey finds three more letters, keeps all of them just in case. He doesn’t read more than the opening, never reads past that, but he folds them into each book he buys and keeps them stacked amongst the rest.
And Dr. Newton finally breaks him out of his shell. Weirdly enough, Corey starts to enjoy the time they have together. He doesn’t want medication, has had enough of taking pills every day, so Dr. Newton agrees to try other methods, and maybe he doesn't feel the best, and maybe not every day, but he finds solace in the rain and no longer sees contempt in the traffic.
He starts to get better.
Dr. Geyer applauds him, literally, when he comes to the office for his next appointment. I’m proud of you she says, as they assess his scars and How do you feel when they’re going over the day, but she’s not asking about physically.
For once, Corey has good news.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in three weeks…” he grins when she asks. And she smiles brightly and clasps her hands together.
“You’re doing so well, Corey. Really I’m- I told you getting better mentally would help you physically.” “Are my- are my results better?” He asks breathlessly, and she nods, still smiling.
When she reaches down for his chart, he holds his breath. “Your numbers… your pain levels… they’ve all improved since you started seeing Dr. Newton. Your energy is coming from your improvement.”
Corey wants to bounce in his seat like an excited little kid, “Wait does- does that mean that I won’t have to keep seeing you?”
Dr. Geyer’s smile falters, “Corey, you already don’t need to keep seeing me. Your scars are healed. Remember the limp you used to walk with because of the pain? I don’t see any of that anymore, hell you can run on a treadmill and not stumble. But… I think you should keep seeing me. Or just a physical therapist. I mean I would prefer it if you stayed with my office. You’re one of my best patients.”
And then she sighs and shakes her head, “What I’m trying to say is that the work we’re putting in here is paying off.”
Before she can say anything else, she’s interrupted by a hasty knock on the door, and both turn to look. There’s a boy on the other side, probably Corey’s age, with hair past his ears and frustration in his brow. Dr. Geyer waves her hand, motioning for him to come in.
“I’m with a patient right now-“ “Mom, I need to talk to you.” The boy stops just short of the desk, presses his foot into the ground, looks at her with a steel jaw and Dr. Geyer sighs.
“I’m sorry Corey… we’re going to have to cut this a little short. I’ll make up for it at our next appointment.” She nods, and Corey takes in a stuttering inhale and nods but he doesn’t say anything.
Just as he reaches for the door, Dr. Geyer says “Corey, this is not me abandoning you. I promise.” And somehow it relieves the tension in his shoulders.
+++++
I couldn’t touch you without ruining you
So I didn’t touch you at all
+++++
Corey has a panic attack.
It’s not like his normal ones. It’s not silent and sweaty or led up to by anything. One minute he and Mason are walking to a coffee shop, and the next he’s leaning against the brick wall of an alleyway trying to catch his breath.
Mason doesn’t freak out, but instead he asks if he has an inhaler or anything to help him steady his breathing. And when Corey shakes his head, albeit not steadily, Mason makes him count to three and follow his breathing.
At some point, maybe in between fighting off the first set of tears and the dog that walks past barking at them, Mason’s hand slips down onto Corey’s chest. Rests above his heart, and Corey’s heart is slamming hard against his ribs and he knows Mason can feel it but he’s not entirely sure if it’s from the panic attack or a whole other reason entirely.
A car horn blares, and Corey shuts his eyes tight. He drags his hands up his forehead and shoves them in his hair, and he doesn’t remember telling Mason his address but somehow they make it back to his house.
And he doesn’t know why but he starts to feel better almost the second they make it through his doorway. He’s already mostly over it, but Mason helps him through the last few steps into the living room and its grounding. It’s comforting.
His apartment isn’t big. Just a two bedroom he shares with his roommate Theo, though he doesn’t know Theo all that well, but just enough to call him sort-of a friend. Mason looks around like it’s a palace.
He wanders through the house, trying obviously not to distrib anything or Corey, but he does pick up the copy of To the Lighthouse off of the kitchen counter and say, “I used to have a copy of this. Same year I think too…” as he opens the front cover.
“Sorry it’s so messy in here…” Corey sighs, but there’s really not much mess. A basket of unfolded laundry on the counter and a couple of magazines on the coffee table. He thinks there might be dirty dishes in the sink too, but if there are, Mason doesn’t point them out.
Instead he spins as he observes and says, “It’s definitely better than the dorm I share with Liam. He leaves dirty socks everywhere… ” he chuckles, and somehow it raises a laugh out of Corey himself, who’s sitting on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands.
It falls back into a stifling silence, so Corey says “Thanks for that… you didn’t have to-“ “Have to help you? You’re my friend. I help all of my friends.”
Corey swallows hard, averts his eyes as Mason joins him on the couch. He can’t seem to focus on anything past you’re my friend .
Mason is close but then he scotts even closer, takes up Corey’s personal space without even a hint of remorse and asks “Are you okay?” but they’re touching thigh to thigh and Corey is just staring . Mason’s eyes flicker down for the briefest moment, and the only way he knows he doesn’t hallucinate that is because it happens a second time, and then a third. And his breath catches and instead of looking away Corey just keeps staring.
“I’m not- I’m burned, Mason. You don’t-” Want me.
But Mason shrugs his shoulders only the tiniest bit, shakes his head and whispers “I do. I do.” And it’s simple, a quiet confession that Corey isn’t entirely sure is real even as Mason leans closer, and Corey doesn’t lean in but he opens his mouth and lets Mason close the unremarkable distance. On pure primal need. On unstoppable want.
Kissing Mason-
Kissing Mason is like-
Corey doesn’t know. Because he’s never kissed anyone like this. Not in this life and probably not in another, but he doesn't think he wants to kiss anyone else like this. It’s blooming and bursting and bruising. Blues and reds and greens and oranges . God, beautiful soft oranges and suddenly, Corey isn’t drowning anymore.
Orange is becoming less loud and hot and dangerous, and more sweet with each passing moment.
Mason’s hands find his face, pull him closer and Corey wraps his arms around Mason’s waist, but he doesn’t pull. He holds him loosely, and maybe it’s because he’s afraid Mason is going to leave him and he doesn’t want to hold on and embarrass himself, but it doesn’t happen. Mason shifts closer, holds Corey tighter by his jaw and maybe he never wants to let go.
Mason pulls away, but then he takes Corey’s hands in his and kisses his wrists, and then turns his hands over and does the same to the backs of both hands. He’s warm like fire, lips hot against his skin but not from flame. Only the flame has ever been this close.
+++++
It’s when you’re on the brink of something
That you lose your balance.
You told me that once
+++++
Corey is two weeks fresh off of turning eighteen when his parents start arguing again. He’d thought it’d stopped completely when they didn’t get into an argument for four whole days, been naive enough to think maybe it would all get better. This time, his dad has been coming home later and later, refusing to help out around the house. His mom freaks and throws a plate full of food at his head, so Corey loads his sister into his car and takes off. He doesn’t know if either of them realize they leave.
Lucy doesn’t cry or ask why their parents were fighting, just sits in the backseat staring out of the window and watching the city pass them by. “Where are we going?” She asks, and Corey looks at her through the rear-view mirror. “I’m gonna drop you off with Aunt Mary.” He says slowly, fixating his gaze back on the road ahead of them.
“And what about you?” “I uh- I have some errands to run. I’ll be back to pick you up later, once I’m done. Okay?”
She nods, but stays silent all the way to Aunt Mary’s house. Their aunt doesn’t ask any questions about why they’re there, but she takes Lucy inside to play with their cousins without argument and gives Corey a look that he knows means be safe but he doesn’t know why.
Instead of focusing on his sister or his aunt or his parents, Corey forces himself to refocus on the changing of the traffic lights. Green means go. Red means stop. Orange means… Corey rolls to a stop just as the left turn light switches to red. A car honks behind him but he doesn’t care.
He watches cars pass those of them stuck behind the scarlett, each with their own place to be past the lime.
The cars start to slow down, and the left turning light turns green and Corey presses down on the gas. A motion so practiced, so automatic, that there’s no thought behind it. He presses down on the gas and turns his wheel to the left and then-
Then there’s nothing. Before there’s everything.
It sounds almost like an explosion, and Corey doesn’t realize it’s happening until the car skids and tumbles. There’s a horn, but Corey’s car rolls once. Twice. Six times and spins out of control on its roof, and when it finally stops, Corey can barely keep his eyes open. The world spins sideways and upside down and there’s pain ripping through his side. The wheel, once in front of him, is digging into his lap. Something drips down his face, and he raises a hand to it, wipes red away from his upper lip.
Corey can’t help how his breathing shakes when he finally tries to look around the car, but doesn’t recognize anything except for the air freshener still attached to the now shattered rear view mirror. He tries the seatbelt, finds it jammed up in between the seat and the center console. It doesn’t budge.
He takes one sharp breath in, and all he tastes is metal in the air. It’s horrible, stings his throat and assaults his nose, and then he realizes that it’s not metal. It’s gas.
Distantly, he can hear sirens, people yelling and the horn of the other car is still blaring.
“Anyone in there!” Someone yells, and Corey jerks his head around as blood smears his lips. The passenger side window is shattered, as opposed to his, which is distorted by metal and melted plastic. “Here! I’m here!” He calls out, reaches up and slams his hand against the roof.
Corey realizes he’s upside down then. That the car is still flipped. He’s reaching down, hitting the ground.
A man pokes his head through the window, tries to peer inside but Corey can only see his eyes. “Are you hurt?” “I don’t- I don’t think so… I’m pinned in pretty tight though. I don’t- how bad is it?” He asks, voice quivering. The man doesn’t respond at first, his voice fades with the sound of sirens, but then he says “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“I mean the car! It’s brand new, I just got it. For my birthday…” “How old are you?” He’s trying to distract Corey, it’s clear, but Corey accepts the obvious. “Eighteen. I just turned eighteen.” His voice cracks, can’t stop it when he coughs against the gasoline in the air and breathes it in.
Corey takes in another shuddering breath, “Aren’t you supposed to tell me it’s gonna be okay?” and the metal creaks and he shrinks in on himself again, but the man asks “Do you want me to tell the truth, or make you feel better?”
And he doesn’t know how to answer, so instead he says “Both?” And it sounds too much like a question. So then the man says “You’re gonna be okay. You’ll be okay.” And his voice almost makes Corey completely calm.
The man stays silent until Corey shouts out “Are you still there?” and he calls back “Yeah! Yeah. Hey the firefighters are here to get you out… I gotta back up…” “What? You’re not a firefighter?”
“No. No just… someone tryin’ to help.”
Corey doesn’t say anything else, but he tilts his head towards the window, but he doesn’t see the man anymore. He’s all alone. There’s whirring outside, it echoes loudly against the metal and Corey clamps his hands over his ears as it rings out.
There’s a woosh, and Corey hears what sounds like an explosion for a second time. He screams, though he doesn’t know what’s happening.
Soon, there’s heat on his face, and he knows what’s about to happen. Has seen it in his textbooks and in movies. There’s yelling outside the car, something that sounds like get the hose and we gotta move . And Corey is left alone, sitting in a burning car that's filling with smoke and the flames are taking over the cabin.
He yells again, thinks maybe someone will miraculously hear him, and will pull him out at the last second. He knows they know he’s there, but Corey is all alone. The smoke is filling his lungs, and everything in himself tells him to fight, to keep his eyes open a little while longer, but it’s getting harder to breathe and the blood is rushing to his head. There’s a singeing sound towards his feet, and he opens his eyes but his vision is blurry through tears and smoke that stings them.
Corey doesn’t necessarily feel it, but the flames spread faster than anyone really recognizes. Tears through his jeans and his shirt, grips his skin and burns . Burns like any flame would do. Is only acting out its nature.
He knows what the newspapers will say tomorrow. University of Washington student dead in fiery crash . Maybe he’ll get the front page. Or maybe just a footnote in the local news, bumped to page six in favor of whatever political scandal arises in the next twenty-four hours. And he thanks whatever he believes in that Lucy wasn’t in the car.
The flames rise and curl around Corey’s torso and grow hotter until he feels it over the adrenaline pumping, he screams, hears the whirring of machines but he doesn’t completely process it until the door is being pried off. The flames, as quickly as they’d grown, begin to die as gloved hands reach inside and cut the seatbelt free, pulling Corey from the wreckage.
There’s only glimpses of memories after that. Blurry and improper, Corey fading in and out of consciousness the entire ambulance ride to the hospital. He does remember, distantly, hearing voices and machines, the frantic yelling of paramedics and the blaring of sirens, but it all falls away the moment they push him through the ER doors.
But the pain, the pain encircles him. Like a shark to bait. The adrenaline is wearing off, but it doesn’t mean his heart beats any slower. He’s scared to look, scared to see what's become of his skin. If it’s mangled beyond recognition, or just barely salvageable. Someone cries I didn’t see him! I didn’t see him! I’m sorry! I'm so- I’m so sorry! As a nurse wipes the sweat and ashes off of his face.
He screams out in pain again, listens to the bustling of doctors and patients and nurses all calling out for help. Feeling every movement he makes and knowing that this could be the end.
But it’s not.
It’s not the end because somehow, by a stroke of luck that others would call a miracle (but not Corey), nearly every major artery is spared. It takes months of grafts and at one point he has three surgeries in two weeks, and none of them show the doctors any sign of internal damage. So the scalpel scars start to blend into the burn scars, almost like an outline for the worst part of him.
He never does find the mystery man that talked him through the worst twelve minutes of his life. Looks everywhere he goes and listens to voices and puts out posts asking for him to come forward, but nothing comes of it.
So Corey resigns himself to healing. To doctors visits every other day and to his family constantly worrying and to everyone he meets asking why he has a limp (Theo doesn’t ask, which is why Corey thinks they become friends in the first place, but also he thinks Theo could just not give a single shit about anything other than himself and the world rights in his mind a little bit).
Corey waits and waits and waits. Works on walking and healing and participating in society again. And he meets Dr. Geyer, the best of the best, and she promises that they’re going to see improvement working together, and Corey likes to tease that he’s her favorite patient and she always laughs you know I don’t have favorites but he knows that he’s right.
He has his first Creative Writing class of the semester on the second anniversary of the accident and the sky is gloomy so he nearly skips it. But his mother calls as he lies in bed, asks if he’s ready for classes to start, so chipper as if it’s not the worst day in a long long line of worst days.
He picks a seat in the middle, with half a clementine wrapped up in his bag and dark circles under his eyes. The boy he sits next to smiles softly and nods, but Corey must look like shit because he doesn’t say anything to him, and instead turns towards the front.
+++++
When I can’t bring myself to say what I need to,
my heart plays Russian Roulette with my throat.
+++++
It takes a few days, more like a week. A few conversations that don’t become conversations. A few missed opportunities to sit down and have it. But Corey finally tells Mason everything.
He pulls him down onto the couch, says I need to be honest with you and Mason makes a quiet joke about breaking up before they get started but then he quiets when Corey looks at him with solemn eyes.
“My car flipped. The front completely ripped off, and the gas line ruptured. I just mostly remember sparks as I was rolling and thinking ‘this is how it ends’. And it almost did. The gas caught the sparks, and the rest of the car caught the flames.” He shoves his hands in between his knees, pushes them together against his knuckles and feels them pop under his skin.
Mason doesn’t say anything at first, just leans in and listens.
“Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds. It doesn’t seem like a long time but… when you’re trapped in a burning, overturned car for twelve minutes and thirteen seconds, you start to count. ‘Cause I wanted to know how long it would take for my life to change.” He looks up at Mason through teary eyes, “It took twelve minutes and thirteen seconds to pull me out, and that was just enough time for the fire to leave me with third degree burns.”
Mason gasps, quietly, but he draws back on instinct. Still, he says nothing. A fire truck goes past, filling the street with sirens and darkening Corey’s face.
But then he shakes his head, sniffles and looks away, “When I say I’m burned… I mean it Mason. It’s ugly, and it used to be painful but I’ve been seeing a physical therapist and a regular therapist and I’m… I’m working on it. Working through it.”
He expects Mason to leave. To walk out the door at just the thought of his imperfections, but instead Mason puts his hands on Coreys waist and pulls at the hem of his shirt. “Can I see them? So I can be the judge?” He whispers, and it’s not selfish. Corey doesn’t know what it is, but it is not Mason looking for a reason to hate him.
So Corey nods, moves his arms and readjusts how he’s sitting so that Mason can see just half the view of his scars. They run up his thigh, cover the right side of his torso and reach up as far as his collar bone. Mason traces his fingers over them lightly, looking at him and silently asking does that hurt so Corey shakes his head because it doesn’t. All he feels is Mason touching him with more care than anyone has ever shown him in his life.
And Mason smiles softly when he pulls Coreys shirt back down, cups his face and says “I don’t think there’s such a thing as being perfect. Maybe physically but… that doesn’t mean anything to me. To me you’re… you’re Corey Bryant. And you have a sister and a roommate who’s weirdly elusive-” they both laugh, “and you make friends with everyone you meet. And I like that about you… I like you .”
Corey would be lying if his heart didn’t stop in his chest, but he nods and rolls his lips into his mouth, tastes salty tears on his tongue but Mason wipes the tracks away with his thumb.
+++++
I swear I fired that night, but, nothing.
+++++
Their project gets an A. They’re getting lunch in town when the scores go out and Mason practically tackles Corey as they’re walking into the cafe. He kisses Corey’s cheek with a newfound ferocity, one unlike their first kiss but similar to the one they shared when they’d woken up this morning.
And Mason is truly, genuinely happy. There’s a smile on his face brighter than the sun and Corey is convinced his cheeks have got to hurt so he slips the cashier his card while Mason is still looking at the menu and mouths I got it . She smiles politely and pulls it back behind the register, anticipating Mason attempting to pay.
And he does. And she says “it’s already paid for” and hands Corey’s card back to him. Mason stares at him with vague annoyance but Corey laughs and takes his hand and they make up.
Corey gets a glass of orange juice, even though it’s two in the afternoon, and Mason stares at it for a little too long. Corey pushes it halfway across the table, and then asks through a mouthful of food “You want some? Or I can order you a glass…”
But Mason shakes his head, “You just- you really like oranges, huh?”
Corey feels his face heat, and nods slowly. “My mom used to pack me oranges in every school lunch. We had this huge orange tree in the backyard that she picked them from when they were in season, and she’d buy those little clementines from the store when they weren’t but- I don’t know. I guess I just… never grew out of them.”
And then he shakes his head and brushes off the oranges but Mason curls his lips inwards and smiles wide.
“What?” Corey asks when he spots it, and Mason looks down at his plate and doesn’t answer so he leaves it alone.
Later, after they’ve left the cafe, Mason says “You know… paying for my lunch, offering me a drink, walking me home. I’m starting to think you like me .” And waggles his eyebrows in an obviously practiced movement, and orange juice nearly comes out of Corey’s nose the way he laughs.
And Corey leans in for a quick peck, something he’s been quietly unsure of for weeks, but Mason dodges the attempt. Corey pretends his heart doesn’t stop, but Mason just tugs him down the street by their intertwined hands.
Corey follows– always follows –behind like he’s lost, and Mason doesn’t seem to notice that he stops talking as they walk. He stumbles over his feet, lost in thoughts and wondering what he did wrong. Twenty thousand thoughts fly past them down the street but not a single one lands. They all sink into the gutter and swirl down the drain.
When they finally make it back to Mason’s dorm, Mason smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” and Corey nods and forces a smile but he doesn’t say anything.
In the seven weeks they’ve really known each other, only a little less than a month, Corey has learned more about Mason than anyone in his entire life. Even his parents. He’s committed himself to learning every fact and memorizing every inch of the man in front of him, and it’s apparent that Mason has too. He frowns, takes hold of both of Corey’s hands and leans close.
“What's wrong?” “What? Nothing. I’m fine.” It’s an obvious deceit, and Mason doesn’t buy it. “Did something happen? Are you in any pain?”
Corey shakes his head frantically, “No! No I’m- I actually feel the best I ever have.” He feels his face warm, and Mason looks away bashfully, before turning back to him. “Are you sure? You just- you look… sad.”
“No. No I’m not sad-” he reaches up, cups Mason’s face with his palm, “But did I do something? I mean… back at the restaurant you just- you pulled away…” Mason looks like he doesn’t understand, so instead Corey says “I tried to kiss you outside the cafe and you pulled away.” He’s trying to be honest. Honest like he’s never been before and Mason sighs and looks at the floor.
“Corey, you drank orange juice…” He smiles with a soft laugh, and Corey furrows his brow, his breath racing. Mason reaches out, grabs hold of Corey’s wrists and moves his hands to his shoulders. “I’m allergic to citrus. You drank orange juice. If I kissed you… my face would get all tingly. Not that it doesn’t already.”
Corey sighs in relief, leans forward and connects his forehead to Masons. “So I’m not in trouble?” Mason laughs and shakes his head, “You’re not in trouble. Need to brush your teeth before you kiss me though…”
But then Corey pulls his head back, his eyebrows furrowed, “Wait, you’re allergic to citrus?” Mason hums in agreement, “What have you been doing with all those clementines I’ve been giving you?”
Mason groans and whispers “Oh busted… I’ve been giving them to Liam. He says thanks by the way.”
Corey laughs, maybe a little uncontrollably, and Mason joins in. “Is Liam here? I feel like I need to at least meet the guy I’ve been unknowingly feeding for over a month.” He says between laughs, and people passing them on the street might think they’re losing it but he doesn’t mind. Mason nods, a huge grin across his face.
And they take the stairs two at a time, laughing over citrus and their footsteps echoing through the stairwell. A girl that passes them in the stairwell looks at him funny, so Corey stares right back and Mason elbows him in the side, but they just keep laughing.
“Okay uhm… Liam can be…” he shakes his head side to side, “a little much at first. But he’s a really great guy, and he’s my best friend.”
Corey nods, smiles despite himself.
Liam isn’t exactly paying attention when they open the door, is hunched over a laptop at his desk, but Corey knows who he is the moment they step inside. Mason clears his throat, “Liam. I want you to… meet Corey.”
Liam spins in his seat, barely a smile on his face, but his mouth falls open. “Of course. Motherf-” he closes his eyes and turns his head. Mason looks between the two, confusion etched in his brows, and Corey points vaguely at Liam and mutters “His mom is my doctor.”
Apparently, it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Mason cackles and claps his hands together as Liam and Corey stare at each other in some kind of awkward staring match. Finally, Liam sighs and says “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? We just met…” “My mom told me to tell you I’m sorry for interrupting that session. So… I’m sorry.”
Corey clamps his hand over his heart, and coos “Oh… he’s so sweet” and it only makes Mason laugh even harder.
+++++
Someday, I’ll show you the bullet I had for you,
after time has done the wash
+++++
Two more weeks pass. He and Liam don’t exactly get along, but they grin and bear it when Mason drags them out to a karaoke bar in town called Galatians. He thinks there’s heavy banter, a sort of bonding between two forced friends, but he knows Liam will deny it in the morning when the hangover wears off so he leaves it alone.
Mason spends most nights at Corey’s apartment, mostly because Liam bans couple stuff from happening in the dorm they share. Corey laughs in his face. Mason just sighs and agrees.
That's how Mason finds the letters.
“Corey!” Comes from the living room, not urgent, but enough to make Corey run out to the living room with his toothbrush still in his mouth. He freezes in the doorway when he sees the letters in Mason’s hands. Mason has his mouth hanging open, holds them up and asks “Where did you get these?”
Corey still has toothpaste foam in his mouth, and he spins frantically before spitting it into the kitchen sink. “Uhm…” he fumbles, “I- I found them… in books.” “In books?” “At the bookstore. Pendragon Books. They were… in some books I bought.”
Mason takes two small steps forward, and then one more backwards, and Corey’s heart hammers in his chest. “To the Lighthouse…” Mason whispers, eyes scanning over the assortment of books on the bookshelf. But then his head flies up and his eyes bore into Corey’s own and he asks “Did you read them?”
Corey shakes his head quickly, almost defensively, “No. No, just the first line or so. I wasn’t- I wasn’t gonna keep them but… I don’t know, it felt… weird to throw them out.”
Mason stares at him, dark brown eyes softening with his frown, which turns into a disbelieving grin. And he crosses the living room in four quick steps and takes Corey’s face in his hands, pulls him into a bruising kiss that takes him by surprise. Corey pulls away after a moment, but he doesn’t pull away from Mason, shakes his head and says “I still have toothpaste in my mouth…”
Mason laughs, “I don’t care” and pulls him back in. And maybe Corey drops his toothbrush on the living room floor in favor of holding onto Mason’s waist, splattering foam and spit onto the hardwood, but he really doesn’t care.
It’s just too easy. Molding together like they were built to fit.
A door opens. “Get a room!” Theo’s voice floats down the hall, his footsteps with it, and then the bathroom door shuts. It opens again, “And clean up the toothpaste on the floor! Really man…”
Mason laughs as it shuts for the final time, and Corey can’t help but join him. “What was that for?”
“You are the only guy I have ever met that would keep letters from a stranger because it felt weird throwing them out.” He says softly, and then he adds in a whisper “Those were my letters…”
Corey pulls back, swallows foam and almost chokes with a cough. “They’re- they’re your- You wrote those?”
Mason laughs quietly, “No. No, my ex wrote them. I kept them in our favorite books and when we broke up-” “You donated the books…” and Mason nods just as softly. Only a few small head tilts forward but it’s close enough that Corey can lean forward and connect their foreheads.
Corey has never been much of a morning person, but it’s nine am and he thinks this might be the best morning yet.
+++++
I’ll take it out of the jar of missed opportunities.
We’ll hold it up to the light.
+++++
They’ve been officially dating for three months and eight days when the word first pops up in Corey’s head. Realistically, it’s probably been in the back of his mind since week two. Or maybe since the orange juice incident. Maybe even since Mason found the letters.
They’re sitting on the A-train, legs tangled together and sharing earphones when an older woman leans across the aisle and coos “Oh you two are so adorable. How long have you been together?”
Almost immediately, Mason says “Three months and eight days” with a gorgeous toothy smile and Corey thinks,
I love you.
And maybe it startles him at first, enough that he stares into space for a good minute before Mason shoves his shoulder and mouths you okay?
Corey just smiles dopily and says “Never better.”
And he rolls that word around in his head for hours, days, weeks . I love you. I love him. Corey loves Mason. Does Mason love Corey? Love, love, love, love, love.
Corey is, for the first time in his life, in love with someone. He’s never felt like this, not in the way he feels for Mason. He loves his parents for being his parents, but not for raising him. And he loves his sister, but she’s too young to be considered a confidant or friend. And he loves Dr. Geyer, in some capacity, but he thinks it could be weird to admit.
He’s never had many friends, except for Luke, but that was a mistake for the better.
But Mason. Corey loves Mason. Because he’s a gentle hand over scarred skin and a blossoming orange tree on a summer day. Because he’s so insanely desperate for Corey and Liam to get along that he drags them to a hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar almost every Saturday. Because he loves every single one of Corey’s favorite books and leaves sticky notes on the fridge as “suggestions” on what he and Theo should buy at the grocery store and then takes it for himself when they listen to him.
Because Corey is almost twenty-one years old and he thinks Mason might be it for him. Not even a quarter way through his life and he’s found the one.
But he keeps it at the back of his mind. Ever present like the door code and his class schedule and the train arrival. He never says it, but he does think it at least once a day.
Mason opens the door for him. I love you. Mason texts him good morning. I love you. They get on a train and Mason holds his hand the entire time. I love you. Mason goes with him to his physical therapy appointment, and he realizes that Mason and Dr. Geyer aren’t exactly acquaintances, which automatically gives them both an excuse to bully Corey lovingly. I love you. He wakes up trembling and sweating, and Mason pulls him back into his arms and holds him until he’s asleep again. I love you.
And of course there are times he almost slips up. Almost says it but catches himself at the last moment.
Like when they’re talking about upcoming Valentines day, which falls three days after their five month anniversary and Mason says “You always pay so I’m taking you to dinner and I’m paying this time.” and leaves no room for argument.
Corey feels his smile soften and when he opens his mouth he almost, almost says I love you but it comes out as “I will hold you to that.” He smiles, more than genuinely because Mason's breath hitches and he leans closer and Corey just knows.
I love you too Mason replies, but it comes out “Consider me held”. It’s soft, just above a whisper, and Corey feels a little less afraid of the word.
So they go back and forth like that.
I love you. “I ordered your drink for you while you were in the bathroom.”
I love you too. “I told the waitress it was your birthday so we get free dessert.”
I love you. “I ran in the rain to get here quicker.”
I love you too. “Let me get you a towel.”
I love you . “I brought you soup for your cold.”
I love you too. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
Corey thinks it might be how he wants to spend forever. Even the silent I love yous and the quiet shows of affection. Corey brings Mason flowers and Mason cooks for Corey (and Theo by association). Back and forth. Back and forth.
As the months creep towards spring, and Corey falls more in love every day, the rain picks up. It starts to rain almost every day, and something in Corey feels refreshed. Like the rain water is cleansing his bones and cooling the flames in his skin and cleaning dirt from his bones. It covers the streets and they have more “lazy rain days” than should really be necessary.
But those lazy days are some of the best Corey’s had with Mason’s head in his lap and Theos music drifting through the apartment and the rain.
Corey loves the rain. Corey loves Mason.
+++++
You’ll roll it around your mouth like a fallen tooth.
+++++
“I want you to meet my family…” Mason whispers one morning, while they’re eating breakfast. Corey almost chokes on his orange juice. From what he knows, the Hewitts live thirty minutes outside of Seattle. The train they usually take doesn’t go that far east. They’d have to take a car.
Corey almost has a panic attack at just the thought of it, but Morey takes his hands and says “Only when you’re ready. I’m not gonna rush you.”
And Mason, patient as he is, gets Corey comfortable in the car again. Maybe not in the driver's seat just yet, but for the first time in almost two years he gets into the front seat of a car without fifteen-hundred milligrams of medication coursing through his system. His hands shake the entire time they’re driving, but Mason just reaches across the console and takes one in his free hand and holds it tightly.
There’s no words shared between them, just the radio and the passing of meadows, but Corey feels nothing but calm the entire thirty minutes they’re on the road. The sky is blue and the clouds are white and the car engine hums beneath him and Corey is happy. Relaxed.
The closest damn thing he’s felt to good in what feels like too long.
Mason’s family owns what looks like a ranch. There’s not an abundance of animals, but it’s a lot of land and a big house smack dab in the middle, and from what Mason has told him has a couple horses and free roaming chickens. The kind of acreage that suggests a couple dozen kids and a southern pride kind of family.
But Corey knows Mason. Knows his brother is twenty-four and has a boyfriend named Niall and that both of his parents are more than supportive of both of their sons. That his dad was a firefighter before they bought the ranch and he retired and that his mom owns a bakery in town where they sell specialty pie and Mason and James’ elementary school drawings are pinned behind the register.
He wonders, almost automatically, how much the Hewitt’s know about him. His own family barely knows about Mason, but only because he doesn’t trust them.
There are two newer looking cars in the gravel driveway, boots at the front door caked with mud and the wrap-around porch still has white Christmas lights hanging around the banisters in mid-March.
Corey’s parents never hung up Christmas lights. They lived in a too-modernly decorated condo with a black and white furniture scheme and no family portraits on the walls. He doesn’t recognize this lived-in-filled-with-love kind of home. Even if he hasn’t gone inside yet.
“Okay just… fair warning. My mom is a- she’s a lot sometimes. Not like- mean just… you’ll see what I mean.” Mason takes a deep breath, and Corey kisses him lightly.
I love you . “Thank you for bringing me.”
And Mason smiles. I love you too. “Of course.”
But he doesn’t ask when he’ll get to meet Corey’s family. Knows Corey himself is barely ready for that.
“You ready?” Mason asks, and Corey nods without hesitation.
The front door is dark blue and the windows are open and there’s the sound of voices drifting through them. Someone only Corey can assume is James shouts Mom they’re here! And a woman's voice calls back Get the door then! Don’t leave your brother and Corey waiting!
She knows his name. Corey takes a small breath in and rolls his shoulders.
James is a carbon copy of Mason. Or, Mason is a carbon copy of James. Either way, they look almost identical. They look like brothers.
James grabs his brother by his shoulders and pulls him into a rough hug. And then, once Mason has pried himself out of James’ grasp, James turns his attention on Corey. But he doesn’t reach out for a hug. Instead, he extends his hand. Corey feels lighter.
“Corey. Hi I’m- I’m Mason’s brother. James.” And it’s a little awkward, almost like he’s nervous, but Corey reaches forward and shakes his hand and the moment stops being so weird. “Don’t worry about me. I’m harmless. It’s my mom you need to worry about.” James leans forward, pretends to whisper and Mason whacks him on the shoulder.
“He’s just kidding.” Mason says with a straight face, staring his brother in the eyes with more than enough willpower that Corey thinks it might make James explode.
“James Hewitt you better not be telling the boy that I’m scary!” A voice comes from within the house, followed by a giggly “Nice one Mrs. H!”
James nods over his shoulder and leads them into the house, Mason holding onto Corey’s hand the entire time. He squeezes once, and Corey doesn’t know if it’s for his benefit or for Masons, so he squeezes back.
Diana Hewitt has the softest smile and Corey knows almost immediately where Mason gets it from. She’s got on a yellow full body apron and there’s flour smeared on her cheek, but she’s glowing when her eyes land on Corey. There’s pie crusts laid out across the granite countertops and another man with fluffy light red hair at the counter trying his hardest to fill three pie tins evenly with blueberries.
Almost immediately, Corey is engulfed in a hug. It’s gentle, her long fingers splayed across his upper back, and Corey knows where Mason gets his hugging from too. Corey hesitates to return it, but then he looks at Mason over Diana’s shoulder and he smiles and nods so he brings his arms up to barely rest on her back.
When she pulls back, she puts both hands on either side of his neck and says “It is so lovely to meet you Corey. Mason has told us a lot about you.”
It’s genuine, and he doesn’t choke up but he does feel himself swallow a little too hard. But then he smiles right back and responds with “He’s told me a lot about you guys .”
“Oh all bad stuff, I’m sure…” the red-head chuckles, and James smacks him on the head lightly, but then leans in and kisses where he’d hit him when the red-head pouts. That’s Niall, he’s sure of it.
Finally, Corey clears his throat, meets Mason’s eye and nervously bounces on the falls of his feet. “So… what’re you guys doing?” He asks as he rounds the counter, but he doesn’t lean against it.
“Mom has a huge order tomorrow and the kitchen at the bakery isn’t big enough so…” James gestures to the Hewitt’s massive kitchen, “We brought it all here.”
Corey nods, but he doesn’t ask anything further. The silence that fills the room is palpable, like he’d interrupted them in the middle of a conversation. Mason must notice how he takes the smallest step back, because he pipes up “You know, my mom has the best Orange Creamsicle Pie recipe in like… the whole state.” And when Diana raises an eyebrow, he says “Corey loves oranges. Probably more than me.”
Corey almost chokes on his own spit. Again.
James laughs lightly, “You know he’s allergic to citrus…” and it doesn’t sound judgemental so Corey loosens the tension in his shoulders a bit and nods along, “Yeah I- I know. He lied about it to me for months though.”
“Oh… first lesson little brother…” James rests his elbow on top of Mason’s head, “Never lie to them.” and Mason takes the opportunity to elbow his big brother in the ribs. Diana reaches over and flick both their foreheads, and both brothers make an audible ahh sound and simultaneously reach for their foreheads, now with identical white streaks across them.
And then she turns on Corey, smiles wide, and says “If you want to come to the bakery tomorrow, I’ll have a fresh Orange Creamsicle in the case.” She dusts the flour from her hands, but Corey freezes up at the implication of another thirty minute drive here and back, after the drive back home tonight. His skin squeezes too tight and the room is too hot, but then Mason’s comforting hand finds his shoulder and he sidles up next to Corey’s side.
“Actually Corey has a class tomorrow, and we have plans with a friend so… not sure we’ll be able to make it tomorrow…” and he squeezes Corey’s shoulder once.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Diana frowns and sticks out her bottom lip, “Well that just won’t do. I’ll make one to take back with you today.” Corey instantly shakes his head, “Oh no- No it’s okay. You’re busy with your other pies. I don’t want to burden you.”
And that must be the wrong thing to say, because Diana almost looks personally offended and even Niall stops what he’s doing to turn his head. “Corey Bryant, don’t you ever say that. You are no burden to me or my boys. You’re one of mine now.” And her thick southern accent shines through her words.
He’s one of hers.
The front door opens, and every head except for Coreys turns. He’s too distracted by Diana’s words.
“Sorry I’m late! Farmers market was packed! Sold out of all my produce.” A voice drifts through the house and Corey’s heart stops in his throat. It stops and stutters because he knows that voice.
Do you want me to tell you the truth, or make you feel better?
You’re gonna be okay. You’ll be okay.
Someone tryin’ to help.
He doesn’t recognize Arthur Hewitt’s face, but he knows his eyes. Deep brown and surrounded by wrinkles, and it seems he recognizes Corey too. He stops in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen with his hat halfway off of his head, and nobody says anything. The air runs cold.
Finally Arthur quietly says, “Corey. I’m Arthur…” but it’s not really an introduction. “Do you… know each other?” Mason asks breathlessly, and Corey nods slowly.
“Your dad saved my life.”
The room grows silent. Not even the whirring of the fans is interrupting this moment. Corey feels his hands shake but he doesn’t let it show, clenches his fists in his jacket pockets so hard he thinks his nails might scratch through the fabric hem. Arthur smiles in a way that looks like he’s holding back, but he does whisper “I always wondered what happened to you…”
And Corey doesn’t know he’s moving until his body is slamming into Arthurs and he’s wrapping his arms around the man. Around someone who should be a stranger, but who Corey hasn’t stopped wondering about for two years. Who he was never able to find.
“You- you said you weren’t a firefighter.” He says over Arthurs shoulder as the man returns the hug, feels both of them tighten their grips and don’t let go. “Retired the week before.” Arthur replies quietly.
When Corey finally pulls away, Mason’s hand finds his and he squeezes once, twice, three times, finally drawing Corey’s attention away and towards him. There are tears brimming in his eyes but still, no one says anything.
It’s a culmination of two years of pain and healing and searching and everything he thought he’d say in this moment has completely disappeared from his mind. It’s a blank state and Corey really doesn’t want to cry in front of people he doesn't know so he forces himself to stare at Mason. But Mason’s jaw trembles and he reaches up and cups Corey’s own and he feels hot tears down his cheek and trailing down Mason’s hand.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
+++++
You won’t forgive me exactly,
but we’ll laugh about how small it is.
+++++
Corey has a flare up. One so bad that he misses a step walking out of the lecture hall on his way to meet Mason for lunch and he falls. He tumbles down the steps and to the concrete sidewalk and blacks out half way down when his head hits one of the steps.
He wakes up as they’re wheeling him into the ER, and for a moment, Corey thinks that it was all a dream. Mason and orange slices and letters in books and a big ranch on a hill are all symptoms of a traumatic experience. He stares at the ceiling as it rushes past him, the same ceiling from nearly three years ago, except there's no yelling or pain, just a slight sting on the back of his head and in his arm.
“Welcome back. You gave everyone quite the scare.” The nurse above the gurney says, looking down at Corey with a soft smile. Her name badge says Jamie.
She and the paramedic set him up in an ER room with an IV and a constantly looping news channel. Nurses stream in and out, speak into the air rather than to Corey. One slips a brace onto his wrist, says It seems like a sprain, no need for an X-Ray. And that's about it.
“We’re going to hold you overnight, just in case you have a concussion. Do you need us to call anyone?” Jamie finally says as she stands at his bedside and records his vitals. Corey realizes he never called Mason. Mason, who was waiting for him at a restaurant. Mason, waiting for someone who never showed. His heart rate must spike, because Jamie whispers woah calm down kiddo.
“My boyfriend. Uhm… I need to call him. I left him- oh god he was waiting for me at the restaurant.” He scrubs his hands over his face, and Jamie nods, before turning to dig through a plastic bag filled with Corey’s personal items. She hands him his phone with a gloved hand.
Mason picks up immediately. “ Corey? Where are you? I tried to call you but it just went to voicemail and… Theo said he hadn’t seen you and-” “I’m fine…” Corey stops him, “Well for the most part. I tripped, hit my head on the way. I’m in the ER.”
“ The- the ER? Corey, that's not a trip and fall.”
“Okay maybe it was… more like a flare up. But the rest is true I- I promise.” “ You didn’t call…” Mason’s voice sounds sad, drifts through the phone quietly.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Mason doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Corey.
Finally, Mason asks “ What hospital are you at? ” “Uhm… Harborview.”
There’s another long silence before “I’ll be there soon,” and “Don’t go anywhere. ” And Corey tries to laugh it off and says “Don’t think they’re letting me go any time soon” but Mason doesn’t laugh.
It’s the longest twenty minutes of Corey’s life. He stares at the news and then the ceiling and then the wall and then the door. He’s watching the beeping of the monitor when Mason finally gets there. He stands in the doorway for too long, just staring.
“Hi…” Corey whispers, and before he knows it Mason is across the room and taking his face in his hands. He kisses him hard, forces himself into Corey’s personal space, and when he pulls back, hands still attached to Corey, he says,
“I love you.”
Corey swallows hard, and maybe his heart rate spikes one more time judging by the way Mason looks at the monitor, but Corey doesn’t hear it because all he can hear is the blood in his head. Mason loves him. It’s not something Corey doesn’t know, but to hear it with his own ears is making him a little dizzy.
“But I am still mad at you.” Mason finally says again, takes his hands away but takes Corey’s hands in them. Corey nods, slowly, “Yeah… yeah I get that. I’m sorry.” “Stop saying you’re sorry. I never want to hear you say you’re sorry for something you can’t control again.” And it almost takes Corey aback, but then Mason continues, “It’s not your fault.”
He reaches up, brushes hair away from Corey’s face, and Corey blurts out “I love you too.”
Mason just smiles, and then nods like he knows.
+++++
We’ll wonder how such a little thing
could ever have meant so much.
+++++
It's three years later when Corey finally stops staring at his scars in the mirror like they’re ugly. Actually, it’s September 23, 2019 exactly when he looks at them while he’s getting dressed and realizes that they’re no more than a sign of survival. And then he pulls his shirt over them and forgets about it.
Mason has already gone into work, way too early for Corey to even comprehend, but Corey has the weekends off so he brews two cups of coffee and grabs his coat and his saddle bag.
As he walks through the Seattle streets, he passes Pendragon. Isaac is in the window, stocking shelves and talking to someone Corey can’t see, but he waves through the window at Corey with a smile. The vet clinic is packed, and Mason is literally sprinting through the waiting room. When he sees Corey, he smiles but his hands are full of files and then he’s rushing off again.
“Something I can help you with?” A woman with a rosy smile asks from behind the desk, and Corey shakes his head but before he can say anything Scott appears around the corner. He puts a hand on the woman's shoulder and says “Don’t worry Tracy, he’s here for Mason.” and then looks up at Corey and continues, “Hey Corey. How you doin’?”
And Corey shrugs and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
Scott laughs, but he looks exhausted. There are deep bags under his eyes and his smile is more crooked than his jaw, but there’s a soft blush on his cheeks. “We’re kinda slammed right now but… lemme see if I can get him out of here for his lunch break anytime soon.” and he winks and disappears into the back.
Tracy has a knowing grin on her face, and she smiles and asks “So you’re the infamous Corey? I’ve heard a lot about you, but somehow I’ve always missed you.” And it’s only a little awkward, but then the door swings open and Mason comes through.
“I got like thirty minutes. I don’t know what Scott did but… let’s go before they call me back in.” and he grabs Corey by the hand and pulls him through the front door. Corey turns and waves over his shoulder, calling out “Bye Tracy! Nice meeting you!” Before the doors shut behind him.
On every Saturday for the past year, they’ve eaten on a bench in the park next to the clinic on Mason’s lunch breaks. Corey brings coffee and lunch, and Mason brings himself and stories about recent patients.
But today they’re quieter than normal. I can’t even talk about the clinic today, it’s been hell Mason says as soon as they’ve reached their usual bench, and Corey laughs but he doesn’t ask any questions.
They sit on the green bench, with paint peeling off of the wood and little indents made by some kind of knife (or somebody's anxious nail scratching) and watch a young couple pass them. It’s the perfect kind of weather, just enough sunlight to see, but not enough to blind. It’s a little foggy, there’s going to be a cold front settling over the city next week, but Corey just watches the people pass them as they eat in companionable silence.
The young couple wave and smile, on their own journey, but then the boy leans in and kisses his girlfriend's cheek and she gets bashful and her face turns as red as a tomato. Mason giggles and whispers “Remember when we were like that?” and Corey scoffs. “Nah. We were never like that.” It’s the biggest lie he’s ever told but Mason laughs loudly and claps a hand over his mouth.
But Mason is right. Once upon they were love-sick twenty-one-year-olds that could barely say I love you without getting giggly and red-faced. And now they’re twenty-four and, somehow, they’re still the same way.
Mason swings his feet, has to pick his knees up so his sneakers don’t drag on the ground, and then he smiles brightly. He’s got lettuce in his teeth but Corey really doesn’t care, and it shows because he leans in and kisses him lightly on the cheek the same way that boy did. And Mason grows bashful but he doesn’t pull away, simply leans closer into it.