More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Five

I shrugged again, not wanting to get into how bleak I was.  My attention focused back onto the pitch as Norwich won a corner.  I felt Mason's arm shifting on the rest next to me, and a moment later his hand squeezed my forearm comfortingly.  His touch vanished after a couple of seconds, but the gesture made me lean my arm against his with a bit more pressure, hoping he would take it as my gratification.

It took me a couple more minutes to work up the courage to start questioning Mason.

"Hey, are you okay?"  I was looking at him, so I clearly saw his jaw stiffen as he swallowed.

"Yup," he muttered tersely.  "Fine."

I wanted desperately to know what Frank had said to put Mase in such a foul mood, but I kept my mouth shut and watched the rest of the game, Mason's mood leeching what enjoyment I was having.  By the time the final whistle blew, I was unsure of who was in a worse mood between us.

We finished the game at two nil.  Frank's team talk went straight over my head; I seemed to spend all my energy trying to put on a happy face for the sake of the team that I didn't have enough left to actually pay attention.  I got changed into my tracksuit and sat around waiting for the players who had played to shower and get ready.  Eventually, I crawled onto the bus, keen to put my headphones on and shut my eyes.

Fran and Annika were engrossed in a discussion while we boarded, so I left them to sit together and headed for the back of the bus, where I might get lucky enough to score two seats.  I had just sat down and faced the front when I made eye contact with Mason.  He was still looking glum, with his shoulders slumped.  He raised his eyebrows and I nodded, not able to refuse Mason the empty seat next to me.

"Hey, Beck," he greeted me lowly as he slid into the seat.

"Hey, Mitchell," I replied in a similar tone.

We didn't say much else to each other for a good while.  Mason sat on his phone, his headphones pulled on just like mine.  I stared out of the window until it started making me feel dizzy, and then I pulled out my phone.  Opening Instagram, I chuckled as the first picture that came up on my feed was one that Mason had just posted.

I tilted my head to the side and stared at him. When he ignored me, I poked him in the cheek.  Clearly holding back a smile, Mason moved his headphones to sit around his neck, but didn't react.

"You can't be in that bad a mood if you're posting a picture on Instagram," I teased, poking him in the cheek again.  I let out a squeal as he quickly turned and poked me back.

"I'm just keeping up appearances."  His cheeks were turning red as he grinned jokingly. "Some of us have a bigger social media following than others, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, tell me again how many followers you have?"  He rolled his eyes at my sarcastic tone, his smile widening.  "I think it's been, like, a week since you updated me."

"Well, it's at least twenty-kay more than it was last week."

Both laughing, I shook my head.  "At least you have a future in influencing if football doesn't work out."

"Please, I'm already an influencer, Hart." His bashful smile showed me what I already knew: Mason was terrible at trying to be arrogant.

"In your dreams, Mitchell," I scoffed.  I glanced back at my phone screen.  "It is a cool picture, though.  Can't wait until I can get some."

The momentary laughter had made me forget the sour taste in my mouth, but it returned now.  Mason's face fell as he bumped my shoulder, trying to keep the mood light.

"Want me to give you a shout out on my story or something?"

I laughed again despite the situation and rolled my eyes at his joke.  A ping sounded from his phone, and on impulse I looked at the screen.  My face instantly started to heat up as I saw Liv's name at the top of the message banner, and I looked away in embarrassment. Without saying anything, Mason slipped his phone into the pocket on the seat in front of him.  Clearing his throat, he nudged me again.

"You feeling a bit better?"

I sighed and turned my gaze outside again. "I can't really be that upset," I murmured.  "I've only been training properly for, like, two weeks."

"Yeah, and you've been killing it," Mason said quietly back.  I had spied Emil sitting two rows ahead of us, and I wondered if that was the reason for it.

"Nah, I can't be bleak."  I shrugged and turned to Mason again.  "Frank will put me back in when he thinks I'm ready, I'm sure."

Mason's brown eyes studied me for a moment before he nodded and shrugged.  "Yeah, he will.  Just hope he does it soon; that got a bit nervy at points."

"Didn't seem like it."  We'd had more than fifty-five percent possession, and they'd only had five shots – three on target.

"I guess.  Thomas just scares me sometimes."

"He does love a risky pass," I admitted, lowering my voice.  Mason chuckled.

"And a risky back pass.  I thought David was going to hit him at half time after that one."

We talked about the game a little longer as I tried to build up the confidence to bring up Mase's bad mood again.  When the conversation lulled, I just decided to go for it.

"So, do you want to chat about when you came off?"  I tried to speak gently, but still I saw Mason's face fall.

"Nothing much to chat about," he mumbled. He'd taken to studying his fingernails. "Frank just..." he trailed off and sighed. Peering over the top of the seat, he bit his lip before moving his head down towards mine.  I tried to keep my eyes on his while he spoke and not focus on how close he was.  "I don't know.  He told me to do all these things at halftime, but I literally couldn't do any of them. There was no space for me, Beck and I-." He stopped talking as his voice rose, clearly in frustration.

"We can talk about it another time."  I had brought up my left leg onto my seat so I could face him, and now I rested my hands on his forearm supportively.

Mason's jaw was set, but I knew it was useless trying to stop him once he'd started talking.  "He just expects way too much from me sometimes."  His voice was so soft I had to lean closer to hear him properly.  "I just... I never want to let him down, but I do because he expects all these things that I can't do."  The despondency in his tone made my heart clench.

"He expects them from you because he knows you can do them, Mase," I said delicately.  "He knows how good you are."

Mason shook his head defiantly.  "Well, he makes me feel like shit."  His voice rose again, so he took a calming breath for a moment.  "I just hate disappointing him.  And I feel like I do all the time."

"What did he say to you earlier?"  His frown deepened.  "Sorry, you don't have to tell me."

He shook his head.  "Nothing really.  Just that he shouldn't have asked so much of me from that match."  He shook his head and tried for a smile.  "Whatever, it's fine.  We won and that's what matters I guess."

I nodded, still concerned about him but not wanting to push him too far.  "You should talk to him, though.  I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Maybe," he grumbled.

"Well, if not, at least you have the international break now so you can catch a break from Frank."

Mase nodded and pulled a pitiful face. "Sorry you won't be there with us."

Shrugging, I felt another wave of bitterness come over me.  I was about to change the subject when his phone pinged again.  This time, he reached forwards and got it back, instantly transfixed on the screen.  Afraid to seem like I was spying, I turned away, finding myself looking out the window again.

Mason's attention had been great for that time, but for the rest of the journey, we hardly spoke again.  Mason spent most of his time typing away on his phone, while I took to watching the Arsenal game on mine.  The silence reminded me that, even with the progress we were making, there was still a long way for us to go to get back to how we used to be.