Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Rifling through the pockets of his shin-length cargo shorts, Mason curses under his breath as he searches for his big four— phone, keys, wallet, fishing bait. After making sure everything he needed for his day was safely tucked away in his fatass cargo pockets, he exits the frat house and starts heading for his favorite place with a fishing pole slung over his back— the harbor.
Savoring the smell of dead fish and salt— his favorite cologne— Mason braces his pole against the ground, and brushes his shaggy, ice-cream scoop dirty blonde hair out of his blue orbs as he puts his bait on the hook. He swings it out to the lake and moves to his favorite bench to wait, but, to his annoyance, finds it already occupied. That’s strange, he thinks. No one ever comes out here.
The man sitting on his bench has curly black hair in a wolf-cut and wire-framed glasses. His short-sleeved button down is buttoned only at the collar, with a white ribbed tank top underneath. His fingers are stacked with jewelry, and his jean shorts — just like Mason’s cargos— were stacked up with impregnated pockets, and baggy, emphasizing the fact that he was built like a twink. His calves were the size of Mason’s biceps (which, despite Mason’s delusion, were also not very large). And— to the frat boy’s confusion— he was reading. In the big 25??
“Hey, buddy,” Mason gruffs. “You’re on my bench.”
The guy looks up. “You’re interrupting my Jane Austen.”
“Who?” Mason was getting annoyed now. This jorts-wearing twink was stealing his seat and wasting his time with random females he’d never heard of.
“Jane Austen! The greatest feminist ever born. The author of Pride and Prejudice?”
“The only… pre-ju-dice,” Mason started, carefully sounding out the word, “that I care about is prejudice against them queers! And it looks like you care a decent bit about the pride part,” he spat.
The guy frowned. “What does that mean?”
Leaning in real close to the dark haired man, close enough to see his dusty brown orbs, he growls, “I’m calling you a queer, pretty boy. Are you a queer?”
“Are you sure you’re not? Because you’re a bit too close to me right now.”
Jumping back, Mason clutches his chest at this tear at his masculinity. The curly-haired dude took a sip from his drink— this weird green stuff. It wasn’t a kind of energy drink, so Mason didn’t recognize it. “I- I’m not a gay! You’re a gay!” Fishing forgotten, the frat guy turns tail and runs like a little girl.
Bursting through the doors of Alpha Sigma Chi, Mason collapses on the couch like a fatally wounded man. “Bros!” he cries, summoning his bros. “
“Bro, are you ok?” asks Brayden, crouching at his side.
“Yeah bro, we saw you stumble in as if your masculinity was wounded!” says Xayden.
“Your poor, poor masculinity!” lamented Homosapieayden.
“Bros,” gasps Mason. “This… this twink… by the lake… called me,” he took a deep, rasping breath, “he called me gay!”
“What?” yelled Brayden.
“No way!” exclaimed Xayden.
“You’re the straightest guy we know!” wailed Neandrathayden.
“We must… exact… revenge!” Mason yelled. “Brayden, Xayden, go rough him up. He’s a curly-haired pretty boy reading books about females on a bench by the lake. Australopithecayden…” he lowered his tone to a whisper. “Fetch me… my white monster.”
“But bro!” Homohabilayden piped up, surprised. “You only reserve those for bench PRs!”
“Today is a special occasion, my bro. I’m going to need my energy up to… deal with him.”
Doing as he was told, Ardipithicayden brought his loyal bro his white monster while Brayden and Xayden ventured out to find the guy who insulted their bro’s masculinity. Mason chugged the monster in one fell swoop, then stood up, rejuvenated. “Time to go back and exact my revenge!” he shouted.
Darting out the door, he went to the harbor and found the twink still sitting on the bench, this time book-less and with his drink all over his lap. “Your friends threw my Jane Austen into the lake. Then they tried drinking my matcha, but spat it out and spilled the rest on my pants.”
Mason cackled. “Hahaha! You will never live up to the power of my bros. Where are they now?”
The guy pointed in the lake, where two small figures were swimming after a waterlogged book. “I explained feminism to them and how Jane Austen was important to it. Now they’re on my side.”
“What??”
He smiled at the frat bro, malice in his gleaming brown orbs. “That’s the power of feminism.”
Mason was stunned again, turning tail to run back to his frat house. The power of feminism?? Fem-i-nees-im? What even was that word? It sounded like “female,” and Mason didn’t like females. Wait no, not in a gay way! He loved females, trust. He was straight and a man’s man. But not in a gay way.
When he got back to the frat house, Homoerectayden was nowhere to be found. “Bros!” he shouted, but no one came. He curled up into a ball on the couch and didn’t cry— that was for queers— just lamented the loss of his bros. And for some reason, the smile of that twink wouldn’t leave his mind.
He woke up hours later to the sound of the door opening. Brayden and Xayden shuffled in, damp and clutching a water-damaged book. Pride and Prejudice, read the bleeding ink. “Bros! I’m so glad you’re back. We need to go back. Rough up that queer some more.”
Brayden stepped forward. “Mason, I think your mindset is very immature,” he spoke clearly. “I don’t condone violence, and especially not the homophobic vocabulary you’re using against Benji.”
“Who the hell is Benji?”
“Benji is our new friend,” said Xayden. “The gentleman sitting on the bench reading Pride and Prejudice. Excellent novel, by the way. I highly recommend it.”
“You’re reading that book? In the big 25??”
“Jane Austen is timeless!” exclaimed Brayden. “You could learn a lot of lessons from her. Like… you’re always talking about how you hate the LGBTQ+ community, but I don’t want to condone your hatred and discrimination to our queer brothers, sisters, and siblings anymore. They’re people too, and we have no reason to hate them. Benji taught us that. I’m sorry, Mason, but I think we need space away from you until you learn to mature.”
“But…” Mason had nothing to say. “Fine. Have fun prancing around with gays, reading about females. I’ll be here! Because real men stay!”
Xayden nodded solemnly. “Benji taught us that too. We have to go, now. Uniqlo closes soon, and I need to find some jorts and button-downs to wear over my wife pleasers.”
Then they left, and Mason was alone.
That night, Mason slept uneasily. He kept thinking of that twink— Benji— and his green drink he called matcha, and his book, and his smug little smile. He knew he hated him. Benji— what kind of name was that? Who names their kid Benji? It frustrated Mason to no end. The fact that he wasted his time, the fact that he poached his bros, and fact that he couldn’t forget him. He tried to make his mind wander off to sleep, but it was fixed on that stupid twink and his stupid morals and values he instilled into his frat bro friends. What gave him the right to influence Mason’s bros? And what gave him the audacity to remain in his mind?
It was only hatred. That was it. His smug smile, that curled up to his dark brown orbs…
It was only hatred. But he’s hated things before and it’s never felt like this.
Dreaming of a stranger who ruined his life, Mason drifted off to sleep.