LINES CROSSED. (BWWM)

5

Mason

I slid into the booth across from Emily, still watching the door where Amina had just disappeared. Her scent lingered faintly in the air—vanilla and something warm I could never describe but always remembered.

Emily didn't say anything at first, just sat stiffly with her arms crossed over her chest, jaw clenched. I reached for her hand, the one resting cold and limp on the table, but she yanked it away before I could touch her.

"What was that about?" she asked sharply, her voice low but cutting. Her eyes bore into mine, and I knew she wasn't just talking about the awkward run-in.

I leaned back against the booth, exhaling. "It wasn't anything. I've known Amina since we were kids."

Emily scoffed. "You looked like you saw a ghost. Or a long-lost lover."

I didn't rise to it. I kept my voice level, unfazed. "She was surprised to see me. That's all. We haven't talked in a while."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "Because I asked you not to talk to other girls. You agreed to that."

I looked at her now, really looked. She wasn't angry—she was insecure, scared, clutching tightly to whatever hold she thought she had on me. "She's not just some girl, Em. She's been around since before any of this. She's like family."

"That didn't look like family." Her voice cracked just slightly.

I sighed again and reached for her hand. This time, she let me hold it, but it was tense, reluctant. "Look, can we just eat the ice cream you begged me to come here for and not turn this into a thing? Please?"

She stared at me for a long second, her lips pursed like she was debating between crying or snapping. "I want to go home," she said instead, already sliding out of the booth.

I didn't argue. I just followed her.

The ride to her place was silent. I didn't bother trying to fill it—I already knew where my head was. And it wasn't with Emily.

When we pulled into her driveway, she barely waited for the car to stop before getting out. No goodbye, no kiss, no nothing. She wanted me to chase after her. Make her feel chosen. I didn't.

I waited until she slammed her front door shut, then reversed out of the driveway and headed straight to Amina's.

Seeing Amina again stirred something in me I'd been trying to bury for weeks. That look in her eyes—wounded but proud, guarded but soft—it wrecked me. She barely looked at me, and somehow that hurt worse than if she'd told me to screw off. I wanted to tell her everything in that moment. Why I disappeared. Why I didn't call. But instead, I stood there in the doorway of a damn ice cream shop, watching her walk away like I was a stranger.

The moment Emily slammed the car door shut and stormed into her house, I knew I'd made a mistake—maybe the biggest one of my life.

I drove to Amina's place without thinking. I didn't even stop to consider if I was overstepping. I needed to see her again—needed to explain.

Her door was unlocked, so I walked in. The apartment felt... hollow. Lifeless. Gone were the cozy signs of Amina's presence—the throw pillows she used to complain were too expensive, the candles she loved lighting for no reason, the soft hum of music that always played in the background. It was all gone. The silence screamed at me.

I took a few steps inside and stopped cold. Just a beanbag chair sat in the middle of the room with a half-eaten box of pizza in front of it. That was it. That was all that was left.

My chest tightened.

I moved toward the hallway and heard her voice—soft, cracked, and raw.

"I can't just leave school and move back home, Mommy..."

Her voice broke. Then silence. Then more.

"I don't know what I'm going to do... I don't have a plan."

I'd heard enough. I couldn't stand outside her door listening to her break down like that. Not when I was part of the reason she felt this alone.

I stepped into her room. Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand—but it was too late. I'd already seen her—raw, unguarded, hurting.

She ended the call. "What are you doing here, Mase?"

Her voice was strained, her smile forced, and I hated myself for letting things get to this point.

"I had to see you." I stepped forward, cautiously. "I couldn't let it end like that."

She looked away, and I caught the shake of her head. "We already let it end, Mason. Weeks ago."

I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her. "I know I messed up," I said, my voice lower now. "That night—when I left and never called—it wasn't because I didn't want to. I did. Every day."

"Then why didn't you?" she asked. Her eyes were red but steady. "Why'd you disappear like I didn't matter?"

I swallowed hard, guilt pressing against my ribs. "Emily... she asked me to cut off all the girls in my life. Said if I was serious, I'd prove it. And I thought—I don't know, maybe if I did everything right, I could finally get something stable. But when she said your name, when she made it about you..." I paused, shame creeping in. "I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have stayed away."

Amina laughed, but it was bitter. "So I'm just one of the girls you cut off like a bad habit?"

"No," I said quickly. "No. You're not like them. You've never been. You're the one person who's always been there—who saw me before anyone else did. You're not someone I can just erase."

She got off the bed, pacing now. "That's funny, because you did. And now you're here what—because your girlfriend got mad and stormed out?"

I flinched at the accuracy of her words. "No. I'm here because I should've come weeks ago. Because I've been an idiot. And because I walked into your apartment tonight and realized I don't recognize this place without you in it."

Her shoulders tensed. She didn't respond, just kept pacing.

"Please, Amina," I said gently. "You don't have to go through this alone. Come stay with me—just until you figure something out. You don't need to crash at a hotel or drain your savings when I've got a whole guest room waiting."

She turned to face me, arms folded tightly across her chest. "And what about Emily? Or is this your way of saying it's over with her?"

I hesitated. "I don't know what it is with her anymore. I just know... it's not you. She's not you. And being with her while you're struggling like this feels wrong in every possible way."

She looked down at the floor. "I don't want to owe you anything. And I'm not trying to crawl back into your life just because I'm in a rough spot."

"You're not crawling," I said, standing. "You're surviving. And I'm offering because I care. Because I should've been here from the start."

Still, she hesitated. I could see the storm behind her eyes—her pride, her hurt, her refusal to be pitied. So I softened my voice even more.

"You've always been the strongest person I know, Mina. But even strong people need someone. Let me be that someone for you. Just for a little while."

Her breath hitched, and I saw her start to crack.

"Okay," she whispered finally. "Just for a little while."

Relief washed through me, but I didn't move. I didn't celebrate. I just stood there with her in the silence.

She sat back down on the bed, hugging her arms. "I missed you," she said softly.

"I missed you too," I replied. This time, I made sure she heard every word.