If someone had told you a week ago that you'd be fake-dating Mason Trueblood and preparing for a "casual photo op" at your favorite vinyl store, you would've laughed, rolled your eyes, and thrown something at them.
Yet here you were.
Wearing your favorite worn-in band tee and oversized jacket, standing outside 'Static Records'. Trying not to look like your heart was crawling up your throat.
Mason showed up late, of course. Sunglasses on. Hoodie up. Camera-ready smirk locked in.
"You ready, fake girlfriend?" he said, grinning as he opened the door for you.
You stepped inside and muttered, "Call me that again and I'll fake dump you in the pop section."
He just laughed—again with the laugh. Like you were his favorite TV show and he already knew all your punchlines.
⸻
The store was quiet. Dim lighting. The smell of old cardboard sleeves and overpriced incense.
Your safe space.
Not a PR stunt.
"Pick a record," Mason said, trailing behind you, pretending to browse.
You didn't answer at first. Instead, you grabbed a dusty Lauryn Hill album off the shelf and handed it to him.
"This is music," you said. "If you hand me a Drake vinyl, I'm walking out."
He raised his eyebrows, amused. "Wow. You're serious about this."
You gave him a look. "I'm serious about a lot of things."
He turned the record over, pretending to read the tracklist. "So... what's the story with you?"
You frowned. "We're not doing the get-to-know-you thing, Mason. This isn't The Bachelor. This is staged. You smile, I smile, we pretend I like being here with you."
He tilted his head. "Yeah, but... what if I do like being here with you?"
That shut you up for half a second.
⸻
He ended up picking a Tyler, the Creator record—IGOR, surprisingly—and you gave a small, begrudging nod of approval.
"Respectable," you said.
"That's the most praise you've given me since we met."
"Don't get used to it."
You moved toward the listening station in the back, one of those tiny booths with headphones and a stool. Mason squeezed in next to you—way too close. Your knees touched. You pretended not to notice.
You took the headphones first, dropping the needle on EARFQUAKE.
Halfway through the song, you passed one earbud to him without saying anything.
He took it like it meant something.
⸻
Masons manager texted: Need at least one photo. Cozy but not cringe.
Mason didn't even ask. He just pulled you in while holding the Tyler record like a trophy, pressed his cheek to yours, and whispered, "Smile like you're not about to punch me."
You snorted—unintentionally adorable—and that was the shot.
Click.
He didn't move right away.
Neither did you.
"Hey," he said softly, pulling back just enough to look at you.
You blinked. "What?"
"You're kinda ruining the whole fake part."
Your heart stalled for a second. Then you smirked.
"I'm just really good at acting."
He smiled. "Me too."
⸻
Later that night, you posted the photo.
Caption:
@that_k.dot-fan_y/n: he's tolerable when he's not talking.
(jk. mostly.)
Top comment from Mason:
@masontblood: you literally called me your soulmate over that Tyler vinyl. don't lie to the internet.
And suddenly, #Masy/n (yes... the fans were already shipping it) was trending.
People believed it.
But the weird part?
You were starting to believe it, too.
VOUS LISEZ
All for the cameras
Roman d'amourY/n a student a college sophomore, jokingly posts a video about how I would date the lead singer, Mason Trueblood, from the trueblood band, for backstage passes. But what happens when his manager sees it and sets up fir you tow to meet each other (I...
