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You are my sunshine
He’s your best friend, through thick or thin. He’s your rock, your anchor, your everything. He’s the right to your left and everything is okay when you’re with him. Mason Hewitt is an actual saint, and you would do anything to defend him.
You know it’s the same for him.
You both have stuck together through everything. You defended Mason from the homophobic jerks. Mason brought you down from the bad places.
My only sunshine
It was never just Mason, and it had never been just you. You both have other friends. But none of them are as close as the two of you are. He’s your best friend, and nothing could get in the way of that. You wouldn’t let it.
You make me happy when skies are grey
Mason could always talk you down. He grounded you, kept you firmly planted to reality when you needed it most. He didn’t alienate you for the I.E.D, unlike others. He didn’t look at you like you were a monster. But he didn’t ignore it, either. When you were diagnosed, Mason adjusted. He learned how to avoid causing an episode, and how to calm you down from one. He did it for you. And you were so, so grateful for it.
You remember a time before all this had happened, before this mega-shitstorm had hit its peak, before Scott had bit you and the only thing you had to worry about was the I.E.D:
It’s all too much. It’s way too much and you need to get out, you need to escape before you hurt someone, before you hurt yourself. They’re all laughing, and they’re laughing at you . You run out of the room as fast as you can, rushing to the bathroom so no one can see you snap. You push open the door and burst into the largest stall, sucking in air but never getting enough.
Fuck them, fuck them all. You hate them .
They think you’re dumb, you’re just a stupid rage monster.
They’re right.
All of them are right and you hate them for it.You shout, overwhelmed, and punch the stall door. It clatters loudly, but there’s no damage. You want there to be damage, dammit. You want to break something, you want your knuckles to break open and bleed, you want it to hurt .
“Liam?”
The voice snaps you out of your actions, your arm dropping limply at your side, your hand unclenching as you peer through the crack between the stall door.
It’s Mason; he must have seen you run in here.
“Go away, Mason,” you say through gritted teeth. Your voice sounds so pathetic and weak. It’s shaky, and that’s when you realize that your whole body is shaking, too.
“Dude, let me in. We can talk about this.” He sounds so sincere, so concerned. It makes you ache all over, because you don’t deserve it. You’re a fucking disgrace, so why can’t Mason give up and leave you the hell alone?
You’re silent for too long, hoping Mason will give up and leave. He’ll be late to third period if he waits any longer.
“You’re not going to hurt me, just let me in.”
You forget to breathe for a moment when he says it. You feel so vulnerable, so see-through, even with a stall door separating you from him.
“You… you don’t know that,” you say weakly, but already the fight is beginning to die within you. Now, you’re just exhausted. You slump against the wall, sliding down and thudding to the floor gracelessly. You can see Mason do the same from underneath the stall door, his legs crossed and his bookbag in his lap.
Another minute passes and your heart's still racing uncomfortably. The other students’ voices are echoing cruelly in your mind. Freak, freak, freak . You can’t shake the terrible feeling in your gut. Your breath is coming out in quiet pants.
Mason doesn’t say anything, but he sticks his hand under the stall door.
You stare at it for a minute, then take it uncertainly in your own. His hand is soft, you notice, and swallow your own. He’s got what your mom would call pianist fingers. Your own hands are rough and calloused, and you kind of hope Mason’s not too grossed out by how sweaty your palms are.
He doesn’t pull away, though, and the two of you sit there for a very long time. There's a silence that you're not used to yet, but being there with him makes you feel like everything is going to be okay.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
You aren’t an affectionate person by any definition. You are prickly and aggressive and you never speak your mind about anything unless you’re worked up and having an episode. Your life is dictated by anxiety and paranoia and anger flare-ups. You’ve got a million things to deal with, you’re life is on the line almost every single day. You don’t have the time to say I love you, I’m sorry, or I appreciate you so much .
But you try to show it through the little things, like buying Mason pizza at lunch when the cafeteria is serving it, because you know he loves it. Or giving him your extra carton of chocolate milk. You watch those shitty movies he loves when you sleep over at his, you let him paint your nails (hey, it’s therapeutic), and card his fingers through your hair (sometimes). It’s not much, not at all, but you think it gets the point across.
If there is any part of you that feels something more than friendship for Mason, you squash it down so far that even you don't know it exists. But it's there, that feeling; the one that makes your heart skip a beat when you watch him laugh, makes your skin crawl with envy when you see him with Corey. It's how you know that you'd do anything for Mason, you'd face death a million times over if it meant keeping him safe.
Please don’t take my sunshine away
You don’t want it to be true. You’re standing there, breathless, frozen in place. There’s an awful feeling in your stomach, this tight and twisting pain that makes you feel like you’re going to throw up or pass out or maybe both. You’re looking at him with what is probably the most horrified expression and you can’t even help it, because he’s the Beast, he’s the monster and it’s all so, so wrong.
“Liam?” he says, and you think your heart just shattered. He sounds so confused and you want to reach out and grab him, to run away and not look back. The others want the Beast dead, they want Mason , your best friend, dead. You’re conflicted.
The Beast has killed hundreds of people, it has almost killed you . Of course it has to be stopped. But it’s different now; now it’s Mason, and you don’t want to think about hurting him. It’s the last thing you ever, ever want to do.
“It’s you,” Scott breathes, and he sounds almost as shocked as you feel. At least he can talk, but you’re standing there like a horrified fool and if you open your mouth, you’re almost positive all you’ll do is puke.
You shake your head soundlessly as Mason looks to you. He looks so scared, it’s killing you that you can’t bring yourself to do anything. There are a million things running through your mind right now, but one sits front and center, gnawing at your brain, echoing relentlessly: you might just have to kill your one best friend .
But then everything is ripped away as a new scent tickles your nose, a new body is standing amongst the three of you.
Corey is standing next to Mason, his eyes wild and scared, pupils blown wide. He looks at Scott, then at you, and both of you lock eyes. He’s only there for a couple seconds, long enough for Scott to yell out to him.
“Corey, wait !” he shouts, racing forward to try and stop the chimera. You do nothing. You’re torn between helping your alpha and helping your friend. You know that on either path, there will be death. You can’t choose, can’t even think straight, so you stand there and watch.
Scott’s too late: Corey’s got a hand on Mason’s arm and they’re gone, just like that.
There’s a sinking feeling in your gut just as much as there is a humongous weight lifted off your chest. You can breathe, but it’s coming too fast and it’s not nearly enough. You’re crying, pathetically enough, but it’s hard to tell if the taste of your tears is bitter or sweet.
Mason’s gone, and he’s safe (for now) from an inevitable death. Saving him means losing countless others. It scares you, this feeling, and it’s something you will never admit out loud, not in front of Scott.
Secretly, you’re relieved.