𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ᴇɪɢʜᴛʏ - ɴɪɴᴇ

𝗜t stopped raining.

He didn't know when the downpour decided to come to a halt, or why—all he knew was that he was staring at the names carved in stone, dried to his undershirt, he'd been sitting here that long. The service ended a while ago, hours, if he really racked his brain for an answer, and in all that time, he couldn't find motivation within himself to get up.

Mason gripped the middle of the metal flask he'd tucked into his suit jacket before the funerals this morning, tempting himself to swallow the vodka he'd graciously poured. But as his eyes followed the glint of sunshine across the open lid, the pieces of rays that had snuck out from behind the clouds, he couldn't force his hand to bring it to his lips.

A piece of him knew what it meant to fall down the spinning rabbit hole that was drowning his feelings in the bottom of a glass—he remembered just what it was like to feel nothing for days only to be slapped in the face by everything he'd been suppressing. Vomit all over his shirt, feelings splattered against the gravel, mixed with the food he barely ate—it was a terrifying memory.

Ignoring the devil on his shoulder, he latched the cap back on and put it next to him, replacing the gap in his hands with the slight chill that came with hooking them around his shins. He submerged his head between his knees and allowed the wind to float across the skin of his neck, pretending that it was a mystical version of the first friend he ever really had.

"I miss you," he whispered to no one.

Losing Isaac only reminded him how alone he truly was. Sure, he had his adoptive brothers and Rayne, as well as the secondary team, but none of them were shoulders he had built the premise of his life on. That day, the one from the dream—it was the first time he ever recognized himself as a person and not just another burden, another mouth to feed, another loser with a last name that meant nothing more than American documentation.

He was completely and utterly alone.

"Why'd you do it?" he felt his tears in his throat before they touched his face, "—why did you save me instead of yourself? Do you think I am grateful for that? Did you really think that your life was somehow less valuable than mine?" 

Mason shook his head, contemplating a drink again.

"—it doesn't make any sense."

He lifted his chin just enough that his kneecaps were digging into his cheekbones and his hair was acting as a half-wet shield to the reality before him. Through curtains of sheath black, he glanced at the tombstone and felt his emotions dampen his clothing. If he had just remained conscious after getting shot—if he had just fucking listened to Kai when he told him to put on the damn vest—

A slick inhale dried the roof of his mouth as he felt the weight of his sling tucked away in his pocket. He'd tried obnoxiously hard to prove to his siblings that he didn't need it anymore, that it was just a nuisance at this point, so much so that he didn't wear it all day, but just before Rayne left, she knelt and placed it in his hands, begging him to put it on.