Mason jerks awake at the sound of his phone ringing, raising his head and groggily looking around with his eyes half-open.

His eyes fall on the window of his room, and sure enough, there's light streaming in through the glass. He frowns and reaches out for the still ringing phone without really looking because his eyes still sting, his frown deepening into a scowl as soon as he sees an unsaved number calling.

Mason might have been kicked out of his house years ago, but he never forgot his mother's number. And apparently, she hasn't changed it either.

What could she possibly want?

For a fleeting moment, he wonders if she misses him. And maybe, just maybe, she regrets it. The fact that she threw her own son out of the house with zero hesitance. That when his father had raised his fist at him and swung hard enough to send Mason stumbling into the dining table, she had stood where she was and looked away.

Mason was a mama's boy.

But right then, the forming bruise on his cheek had stung less than her rejection had. He could only stare at her emotionless face with tears in his eyes and let the vicious realization that the society's faux beliefs had been on a higher pedestal to her than the life of her own son settle in his chest.

The phone stops ringing, as does Mason's head.

He can still feel his heart thudding in his ears when he glides a shaky hand through his unruly hair, peeking at his phone to check the time.

7:36 AM.

He scoffs to himself, pressing his thumb on the lock and tossing his phone away somewhere on the bed. Of course, she'd call that early. She's probably sitting in that godforsaken park right now with all of the other homophobic women she's friends with through church.

Slipping out of bed and straight to the bathroom without looking around, he splashes his face with icy cold water in the sink. When he looks up into the mirror, water dripping down his face, he finds the whites of his eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep. But then all he can notice after shifting his eyes the slightest bit is the almost faded scar right above his eyebrow.

Mason does not forget things easily. Neither has he ever been good at ignoring the voice inside his head that repeats every little thing his parents had ever said. As if sharpening already broken glass, the same voice twists every word they have spoken in his presence into something worse, something uglier than they already sounded.

He shakes his head with a bitter half-smile tilting his lip up, making himself stare at the mirror harder, eyes glassy and mind miles away from his body. Disoriented until it disconnects itself, as if tired of the collision of his thoughts. He splashes his face with water again, soaking his hair with it before pushing it back.

Hating the burn behind his eyes with all his might, he closes them and eventually looks away, hands now gripping the sink so tightly that his knuckles turn pale enough to almost match the ceramic.

Hazel eyes that remind him too much of things he doesn't want to be reminded of, meet the ones in the reflection again. He doesn't know how long he stands there, blinking only when his phone chimes from his room. Once. And then after four seconds that Mason keeps track of, it chimes again.

He takes a deep breath and stares at his reflection one more time as he releases the breath, pushing himself back and towards the door. He shuts it unnecessarily loud to snap himself out of his leftover reverie.

Not bothering to check his phone, he walks into the kitchen to make himself some honey tea, his eyes falling on the note stuck to the fridge just as he's setting the water to boil.

I'm leaving earlier today because something super urgent came up. I didn't get the chance to make you breakfast, sorry :( I'll do dinner today to make up for it! x

Mason feels a smile forming on his face at her messy handwriting and the little 'Gwen' she had signed under the note. As if it could be from anyone else. They're the only people who live in the house.

He leaves the note there and goes ahead to finish pouring his tea into the mug, deciding to drink it on the balcony.

Except, his phone rings again.

And Mason stiffens, eyes closing momentarily as if pleading for someone to give him the strength to deal with this situation. Setting his mug on the counter, he marches into his room, willing his phone to stop ringing.

But it doesn't.

And because Mason is an idiot, he picks it up without checking the caller ID.

"What do you want from me?"

The calm voice that replies after a moment from the other end makes a chill run down his spine.

Ah, fuck. My. Life.

"That's...certainly a very..." Ayaan clears his throat, but little does Mason know that he's only trying to hold back a surprised, but amused chuckle. "...interesting way to greet your client, Mason."