[chapter_11]

The dining room is full of silence, only occasionally punctuated by the clinking of fine silver utensils across antique china. The room itself is tastefully ornate, decorated in a scheme of dark walnut wood, a creamy Persian rug across hardwood flooring, and subtle brocade wallpaper in shades of deep navy and hunter green; at either end of the room are glass French doors that open to a sprawling garden that overlooks the Bay; a crystal chandelier hovers overhead, sending sparkling light across the long table. There are five people seated at the table, with the fifth proudly sitting at the head with a vaguely contemptuous expression on his strong-boned face.

It is yet another month and Masen is once again in the dining room of the familial Cullen home, an estate nearly as old as San Francisco. The dining room is just one room of dozens that exemplify the breadth of the Cullen wealth.

To say the Cullen family has a reputation in high society would be a gross understatement. What the Cullen brood has is a legacy, one dating back to the first clever enterprisers who struck gold during the Gold Rush. What began as businesses in jewelry, banking, and railroads has grown into a vast conglomerate of businesses - in hospitals, colleges, small and corporate finance, technology, and transportation. The Cullen family has old money that is constantly being reinvested to create new money, and the family itself has been classed in the highest echelons of wealth since at least the 1980s. The Cullen legacy is one that has been passed down, father to son to father to son, since it was first established, and Grandfather Cullen, the current tyrannical on the business throne, has never let it be forgotten that the legacy is only for blood relatives.

Meaning, of course, that Masen should never get too comfortable with the family, because he wouldn't be seeing a dime unless he could prove paternity - which he can't. Thomas Cullen, his adoptive father, is a kind man who had adopted the son of his late best friend out of the goodness of his heart, but the son in question has never wanted to find a replacement for Ed Masen. He took a name from each father, biological and adoptive, to honor those both, but he hasn't ever forgotten that he is not a true Cullen. His tie to the family is in name only, and he has never tried to claim otherwise. Getting that through the thick, elitist skull of Grandfather Cullen is something he no longer wastes effort on.

They will never see eye to eye. Masen is unbothered by it at this point. He is twenty-three now and is no longer ruffled by the acidic tongue of the Cullen patriarch. Which is why he continues eating his perfectly cooked filet mignon peaceably when Grandfather Cullen makes another snide remark.

"The orphan is here again, I see," he observes, cutting irritably into his dinner. There is a near-empty glass of red wine at his elbow, notably the only wine that has been touched at the table. It is his third glass, by Masen's count. "Encroaching on yet another family dinner. Thomas Cullen, when will you learn that you cannot let leeches gorge themselves? I told you once fifteen years ago and I'll tell you again now - if you let maggots get near you, they start to fester."

Masen spears a sautéed mushroom, allowing its buttery flavor to melt over his pallet before he chews. He sees Carlisle shoot him a concerned glance and blinks languidly in response.

He wishes that Carlisle would stop worrying about him. It's a futile wish. As Carlisle has told him before, it is the prerogative of older brothers to worry. At least Carlisle has finally learned to hold his tongue - it's no use for Grandfather Cullen to be irate with both of them, after all. The only reason he bothers to attend these monthly dinners now is because his adoptive parents request it of him. Monthly dinners are a Cullen family tradition, and no matter what Grandfather Cullen likes to say, Thomas and Anne Cullen have made Masen part of the family.

This is something they will not let be forgotten.

"Father, that's enough," Thomas Cullen says firmly. He shares many of the same facial features with Carlisle, a strong jaw, straight nose, and a wide forehead, but his golden hair is now streaked with silver.

"An urchin still sits at my table and still eats my food and still uses my family name," Grandfather Cullen fairly snarls. "It won't ever been enough, not until it learns its place."

Another bite of steak, this time with fluffed sweet potato. Delicious.

Anne Cullen delicately clears her throat. The silver glasses perched on the end of her nose do nothing to hide the pinch of unease at the corners of her blue eyes. "Carlisle," she begins. "Tell me how your residency is going? And that dear girl Esme?"

"Should be focusing his attention on the business, not playing doctor," Grandfather Cullen mutters, only just under his breath.

Nobody bats an eye.

Carlisle smiles gently, almost fragile. "It's certainly a challenge. Some days are more difficult than others," he says, leaving out the fact that some days are more difficult because he is splitting his time between the profession he loves and being the heir of the business he does not. "Esme is a godsend, truly. Mom, I really think I'm going to propose."

"Oh, that's marvelous!"

"That's great to hear, son."

"This girl, Esme, what is her pedigree?" Grandfather Cullen demands. "Is she another scholar, or does she come from a good family?"

Anne flinches minutely at the implication that she, from a family of educators, is somehow not from a good family. Her being a professor has been a point of contention since she married Thomas Cullen. It might have been better had she not insisted on working such a common job, but she had and her relationship with the Cullen patriarch has been rocky ever since. Her saving grace, as far as the misogynic bastard is concerned, is the fact that she gave birth to a hearty and hale Cullen heir.

Masen's fingers tighten just-so around his fork before he forces himself to relax his grip. It's much more difficult to not be upset about Grandfather Cullen's cutting words when it is his adoptive mother under attack - but he has learned to keep his head. If there is anything Grandfather Cullen likes less than orphans and scholars, it is unwanted heroes who cannot bind their own business.

A memory of shattered glass, the sharp tang of scotch liquor, and the phantom sting of the scar on Masen's cheek reminds him to keep his mouth shut.

But even still - how many more of these dinners will he, even with all his endless patients, be able to endure? Grandfather Cullen grows more acerbic in his old age, a toxic presence that takes advantage of old family customs to respect the patriarch. How the Cullen's can sit here and pretend that a dragon is not breathing fires of judgment over them all has always baffled Masen. Surely, by now, even a pacifist would fight back?

Masen considers not attending the next monthly dinner, and then he considers the disappointment on his adoptive parents faces, and he, for once, does not know what to do.

He wonders what Bella Swan would do in this situation - and quickly makes the decision to do whatever he can to keep her far, far away from Grandfather Cullen. Even Carlisle keeps his Esme away from these dinners, as he should.

By now, Carlisle has finished giving the barest sketches of Esme Platt, a rising star working at a leading architect firm who had graduated with a major in Environmental Design at UC Berkeley last year. The only thing that quells Grandfather Cullen's growing hostility is the news that Esme is a daughter of the Platt family, another high society family heavily involved in real estate investment. Naturally, Grandfather Cullen approves of her family, but does not approve of her desire to work.

Bigot, Masen thinks coldly, finishing his dinner. He doesn't touch the wine at his elbow, and he has picked around the shellfish on the plate that he - and the rest of the family - knows he is allergic to. He will be hungry later, as he only ate half of the food on his plate, but he thinks that is rather the point. Grandfather Cullen, the petty asshole that he is, always makes sure to serve some kind of shellfish at these family dinners, likely for the express purpose of Masen leaving the dinner with hunger. Or, if Grandfather Cullen is particularly lucky, dead.

That level of pettiness would be admirable in anyone else, Masen knows. As it is, Masen has an EpiPen tucked into his pocket just in case. He never leaves home without it, but especially not when he knows he'll be dining with this old bastard of a patriarch.

"And you, Masen? How is your business venture?"

Masen offers a placid smile at his father's question. "It's going well. Our investors are eager to release our product."

"Waste of money if you ask me. Investing in some nonsense computer game, made by an ill-mannered ingrate of all things? Fools, all of them. Might as well throw their money away," Grandfather Cullen blathers.

Masen's polite smile does not waver, even if the rest of his family flinches or, in the case of Thomas, throws a withering glare at the head at the table. "In fact, we are set to launch our game in the next few weeks. We're all excited. Our projections are promising."

Grandfather Cullen might mutter something derisive under his breath again, but it's swallowed by his next liberal swig of wine.

"Well, that's wonderful to hear! It's quite something, I think, to start a business from scratch," Anne says with an encouraging smile. "Both my sons are brilliant, aren't they, Thomas?"

"Prides of the family, to be sure," Thomas agrees.

"I knew they would grow up to be so successful," Anne gushes, albeit in a refined fashion. She is speaking pointedly, slathering praise on to both sons for being so smart and savvy, for being such productive members of society, for living up to the Cullen legacy. She says all of these things on purpose, a series of passive-aggressive barbs that have Carlisle shyly preening and Thomas sitting smugly.

Masen shifts his gaze directly to Grandfather Cullen, a silent challenge. Did you hear that? He asks silently. It doesn't matter what you say, I am still one of you, and you can't do anything to change it.

Grandfather Cullen sneers at him and Masen's smile widens, just a fraction. Like Anne, he does so love getting under that old bastard's skin. While he'd much rather be anywhere but here, being respectful to his adoptive parents is more important than his own discomfort, even when he was still young enough to be bothered by Grandfather Cullen. If he can do anything to make the asshole equally as discomfited, then Masen is satisfied.

Seeing Grandfather Cullen angrily mope over crème brulee is the best way to end another awful dinner, after all.

"I'm sorry about Grandfather," Carlisle apologizes later, out in the circular driveway after their parents drive away. Carlisle is fretting, pushing his hand through his hair with some agitation. "You'd think by now he would have…But no, it's the same as before. Worse than when we were kids, even. It must be so awful. It's awful just hearing about it."

Masen leans back against Carlisle's car, a shining white Mercedes he keeps carefully maintained. Hands in his pockets, Masen rolls his shoulders. "It is what it is."

"You shouldn't have to listen to it," Carlisle persists.

"Mm. Maybe, maybe not," Masen says noncommittally. After all, it's his own fault for attending the dinner - he knows what to expect by now, and he's built up a certain tolerance. In the right mood, Grandfather Cullen can even be somewhat amusing, an old white man, the epitome of problematic patriarchy, who can't seem to move the fuck on. Yeah, that can be funny, in a way.

Carlisle sighs heavily and moves to lean beside Masen. "It's times like these I wish I was a smoker," he says conversationally, craning his head back to look at the stars visible through all the light pollution. "It seems cathartic, doesn't it? To just sit and inhale?"

"Aren't you a doctor?" Masen asks wryly. His eyes are dawn to the moon steadily rising over the Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge stretching out over dark waters.

"I am," Carlisle confirms gravely. "So I can't be a smoker. It's a slow poison to your health, you know. And I wouldn't want to be a hypocrite, telling patients not to smoke when I'm a smoker myself."

That's just like Carlisle, not wanting to upset hypothetical patients. Even when he muses in stress he is a good person, down to the core.

Masen can't imagine being that good. He doesn't think many people are. It's part of the reason why it's so shocking he is the grandson of the most horrible person Masen has ever met. Perhaps Carlisle simply takes after Anne's side of the family.

"Marijuana," Masen suggests after a beat.

"Too mind altering."

"Alcohol."

"I need my liver. And I don't want to turn out like Grandfather."

Fair points. Masen's lip twitches as he offers his next suggestion, totally facetious by now. "Goat yoga."

Carlisle shoves his shoulder, barking out a laugh. "Where did you even hear about that?"

"Peter," Masen answers promptly.

"That sounds like Peter," Carlisle says, still laughing. "But I don't think I'll be doing goat yoga anytime soon. I'll just stick with running for stress relief."

"An acceptable alternative."

"Maybe." Carlisle sighs again. "It works better when I can run away from what's bothering me, but it seems like no matter how much I run, I always arrive at the same problems."

Masen looks at his brother, considering the faint smudges beneath his eyes, the prickle of blond facial hair gathering at his chin. Carlisle came to this dinner directly from a shift at the hospital, and Masen suspects before that shift he had put in hours at the company, doing his duties as the Cullen heir to learn the ropes of the business. Carlisle is tired. Carlisle is torn between his heart and his head. Carlisle is the type of man who will tear himself apart just to appease everyone, and Masen wonders when he will break from it. Not for the first time Masen wishes that Grandfather Cullen wasn't such a blithering stain on humanity, because otherwise Masen could have taken on the responsibilities of the Cullen business and left Carlisle to become the world-renowned doctor he is destined to be.

But that is a fantasy. Grandfather Cullen will never allow the reins to be handed to Masen, and Thomas Cullen is in no position to change that right now, and that means that Carlisle will have to continue to endure. They are all stuck in their roles - for now - and there is nothing to be done about it - because Carlisle will not give up being a doctor and Grandfather Cullen will not give up his power. It is a stalemate of the greatest order.

Masen straightens up, stepping away from the car. He catches Carlisle's eye with a solemn nod of his chin. "You should go home, get some sleep."

Carlisle fixes him with a frank stare, reading all the words Masen does not say, then squeezes his eyes shut. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll go home." He pauses as he rounds the side of the car. "What about you?"

"Thought I'd take the train."

"That's two hours," Carlisle points out. "I could just drive you."

Masen shakes his head, quirks his lips. "I like the train," he answers simply. He doesn't add that he thinks Carlisle could use the space, could use the time it takes to drive back to decompress. He doesn't need to say it. Carlisle already knows, and he looks grateful for the chance to escape - even if the guilt of it still pinches at the corners of his mouth.

Masen waits until the taillights of Carlisle's car have disappeared before he starts down the winding trail of the driveway, the great Cullen estate looming over his shoulder.

He'll take his time getting home.

Peter
Hey have you seen this script?
It's so sick
Swansong is a genius

Masen
(Read at 10:22p)

Peter
I know you're awake
I can see your light

Masen
(Read at 10:24p)

Peter
You're such a dick
Idk what Bella Swan sees in you
Or what Swansong sees
Whatever
Point is she can do a lot better okay

Masen
:)

Peter
Man fuck you

It had been something they talked about when they were first establishing Midnight Sun and confronting the issue that Alistair is the only one who had any access to large sums of money. It's all well and good to make a start-up company out of a Stanford dorm room, but what are they supposed to do when they graduate? They'd need a place to work - and a place to live.

The solution had been inspired. Unconventional for sure, but inspired. Between Alistair's deep pockets reaching all the way back to England and Masen's monthly living stipend wrangled for him by Anne Cullen, a large enough pool of money had been made do make a nuanced purchase. They'd started planning for it during their last semester, finding a real estate agent for commercial property, getting a contractor for a remodel, and even hiring his brother's girlfriend out of her architectural firm to create an entirely eco-friendly, multi-functional building just outside of the heart of Palo Alto. The result is a logically sound construct that is both a work building and a set of apartments for the four founding members of Midnight Sun.

The building, made entirely of clay-red brick, is a callback to the open industrial design of the late 1950's, which was when the building was first a packing plant for a local bakery. Today, the building has undergone vast changes, the first of which is a state-of-the-art security system masked as a sleek glass and steel door, a white neon sign reading Midnight Sun hanging right above it. The subtly continues throughout the rest of the building, which has been refurbished with sustainable materials that marry minimalism with neo-industrial; brick walls, restored floors, stark white walls, steel and chrome fixtures, and Edison bulbs throughout.

The first of three floors is the work space, which opens immediately after passing the long, white-padded benches sitting on either side of the doors. The work space is open concept, dozens of stand-to-sit desks in clusters separated only by neon signs hanging over each cluster and partial glass-and-steel walls acting as both screens and storage shelves with mesh wire baskets; computers are already set up at each desks, the clusters coded by color, all intended so every employee is working at the same level. There are only two closed spaces, each of them distinguished by glass doors and long horizontal glass windows; the first is a conference room, a narrow white-topped table, a large viewing screen at the back, and a dozen black computer chairs; the second is Masen's personal office where he will be juggling other aspects of the business. Near the front of the space, just to the side of one long bench, is an open kitchen, a steel counter top with white cabinets, a tall refrigerator, and several small appliances, save a coffee pot. The office bathroom - unisex - is on the other side of the kitchen area. Right between the bench and the kitchen is a diminutive door, painted the same white as the walls and protected with a coded door handle that leads to the upper levels.

The second floor is where Peter, Emmett, and Alistair's apartments are located. The minimalist-industrial theme from the office space continues in the hallway for the three apartments, each of which have a bathroom, large bedroom, living area, and kitchen. Masen hadn't seen much of these high-ceiling apartments, but he knows that each has been personalized to taste. He'd seen Alistair with black-out curtains and caught both Emmett and Peter carting in boxes of collector memorabilia for games, animes, and comic books. There is a shared laundry room on this floor, and something like a lounge made of two couches facing each other dead-center right in front of the laundry area, which is tucked into a nook just to the side of the stairs.

The wood-and-steel stairs go up another floor to Masen's accommodations, which is more like a loft than an actual apartment. His space is another open concept for the most part, the divisions in his rooms marked by frosted sliding glass doors. His kitchen, dining, and living room spaces are all furnished with black leather, white and grey fabrics, steel, and glass; his bedroom is much the same, dominated by a platform bed and a closet built into the wall. Between the bedroom and living room is a desk for his personal computer and an organized collection of gaming equipment. The space is designed for function more than anything else, which Masen appreciates. His concessions for comfort are the plush cushions of the couch, the ergonomic chair at his desk, and a leafy green plant on his coffee table that is already dying.

Masen is, overall, pleased by how the building turned out. Alistair's down payment secured the long-time lease of the building, which has been approved for multi-purpose use, and the monthly expenses for utilities will be easily paid for with Masen's stipend. He considers the work-home arrangement a stroke of particular brilliance.

But already he is lamenting the fact he didn't request a separate laundry area for himself. He should have guessed that Peter would take any opportunity to strike up a conversation, especially following last night's texts.

Peter sidles up to where Masen is carefully measuring laundry detergent, drumming his fingers on the dryer. "So, uh, what's your plan anyway? With Bella Swan?"

Masen pours in the detergent, closes the lid, sets the washer to the right setting. "Plan?"

"Yeah. Like, how are you going to…" Peter trails off and squints. "I mean, you are planning on dating her, right?"

Masen, not in the habit of answering obvious questions, doesn't even bother to reply.

Peter cackles, clapping his hands with glee. "Oh, shit! I knew it! You like her! So you must have a plan, right?"

Masen does, in fact, have a plan. Masen has a plan for everything, and he definitely has a plan for wooing Bella Swan. He's already started on it, and he is objectively doing well. "Mm," he hums, if only to stop Peter's victorious crowing.

Masen eyes the washer, then moves to sit on one of the perfectly comfortable dove grey couches, their cushions not too firm or too soft. He briefly considers going back to his loft, but he doesn't trust Peter alone with his clothes because Masen is not an idiot and Peter can't resist a decent opportunity for a prank. Instead, he simply sits and waits for Peter to lose interest.

It will happen eventually. Even Peter will get bored if Masen stops acknowledging him.

Peter throws himself sideways on the opposite couch. "Wait, let me guess," Peter says brightly. "Uh, you're going to plan this massive, wild reveal, like a flash mob or something, and surprise her!"

Masen stares at him flatly.

"Yeah, that's not quite right," Peter admits. "Hmm….Oh, I know! You'll send her flowers and chocolates and stuff! Take the romantic angle, really lay it on thick and sweep her off her feet!"

Masen mostly succeeds in not showing a visible reaction, but even his self control isn't enough to completely tame the curl of his lip at the idea of bombarding Swansong with roses and boxes of chocolates.

Emmett, apparently coming back home from picking up boxes of pizza and apparently having heard at least some of Peter's babbling, steps off the stairs and chokes on laughter. "Dude, you're not thinking right," Emmett tells Peter. He crosses the hall to plop down beside Peter on the couch. The scent of mat and onions and baked cheese wafts thickly through the room when Emmett unceremoniously opens a box and takes a giant bite out of a slice. "You gotta think like a fucking mastermind," he says around a mouthful. "Like an evil, smart one. Less Darth Vader, more Senator Palpatine."

Peter nods his understanding, eyeing the pizza hungrily. Emmett passes a slice and Peter grins, takes a bite, and then proceeds to talk with his mouth open as well. Masen is glad Alistair is missing for this conversation, if only because he would be genuinely appalled by the lack of basic manners and Masen doesn't need to hear that lecture when all he wants to do is his laundry before Monday morning.

"So, like, you're gonna…what? Make her fall for you through the game and then when you're sure she's fallen for Master Culler you'll meet her in real life?" Peter chortles. When Masen says nothing to deny him, and instead arches his brows in mild interest, Peter almost spits his pizza out. "What? Fuck off, no way I guess right!"

"Mm."

Peter gapes, astonished.

Emmett, on the other hand, snaps his fingers and points at Masen. "You goddamn Sith Lord," he laughs. "I think I'm proud!"

"No way is that going to work!" Peter exclaims earnestly.

Masen very much disagrees. In fact, he's banking on this exact plan being successful, because he doesn't know how else to approach Bella Swan without coming off like a complete stalker unless he manufactures a natural progression of their in-game marriage. Which means more patience, of course, but he considers the trade-off worth the effort.

He doesn't quite understand why Peter seems to dead-set to disagree. Usually this is the exact kind of plan that Peter would be salivating over. And yet…

Interesting.

"It's Masen," Emmett says confidently. "Of course it'll work. What else is he supposed to do? Go up to Bella and be like, hey, yeah, we're already married and I've been cyberstalking you to satisfy my lovesickness but now I'm meeting you out of the blue because, like I said, we're already married in the game so I figured, yeah, why not? He can't do that! He has to do it this way."

"It won't work!" Peter whines. "Shit like that never works!"

Emmett scoffs. "It definitely will."

Peter thrusts out his hand, slick with pizza grease. "Bet on it."

Emmett's eyes gleam. "Oh, you're on, Pete."

While they're busy setting the parameters of their bet, Masen silently switches his washed clothes to the dryer and disappears back to his loft. He'll risk wrinkles this time, if only to get rid of the next phase of that conversation.

Carlisle
Congratulations on the company
You're officially starting tomorrow?

Masen
Yes

Carlisle
Esme wants to know if
everything is satisfactory
She has some concerns about the
space being too empty

Masen
It's fine
She did a great job

Carlisle
Esme says she'll be dropping
some plants by later this week
She says it will "make the space work"
I have no idea what that means

Masen
Nothing easy to kill

Carlisle
Excuse me?

Masen
The plants
Nothing easy to kill

Carlisle
I'll let her know

Masen
(thumbs up emoji)

Monday is, in a word, chaotic. As the first official day of business for Midnight Sun, there are a lot of basic things that need to be taken care of. Employees must be oriented. Key cards must be programmed. Work expectations and current projects must be explained. Alistair has to show everyone how to work the printer - twice. They muddle through by the saving grace that Masen, even if he is not the heir to the Cullen businesses, has picked up how to run complex businesses simply by exposure. By the time lunch comes around, their small fifteen man company is ready for a break, which is why they beeline to the nearest place for lunch.

Their office building is part of a cluster of other small businesses, right near a local park and a small shopping center where food trucks like to congregate. Today there is only one, NOMAD, which has placed several folding tables and chairs in a loose arrangement around the truck. The food truck has a rotating menu of different cuisines on different days - today seems to have a Latin American theme. They order their food, collect it, and then break out into small groups at the various tables.

Whether by nature or design, Masen ends up sitting with the other founding members of the company. He tucks into his food neatly, or as neat as anyone can eat stuffed arepas. He keeps his eye on his phone, which sits beside his paper plate, mindful of the time and the virtual meeting with investors he has right after lunch.

"Man, this restaurant is great, isn't it?" Peter asks, fingers already dripping with salsa, fried dough, and cheese. "The food is fucking fantastic."

"It's pretty good," Emmett agrees.

Alistair, who has never developed a taste for anything remotely spicy, picks at a plain cheese and chicken quesadilla. He doesn't comment on the food, likely still reflecting on the perturbed expression of one of the food truck workers when he requested his food be made with absolutely nothing resembling a jalapeño.

"Pretty good?" Peter echoes incredulously. "Only pretty good? Are we even eating the same thing? This is amazing."

Alistair very much does not look like he agrees. He probably should have gotten a sandwich from the deli in the supermarket.

Emmett rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine. It's amazing," he agrees. "Why're you being so weird about it?"

"I'm not being weird," Peter retorts even though, even by Peter standards, he is being a little hyperintense about the food. "You're the weird one."

Masen side-eyes Peter thoughtfully.

"Am not," Emmett shoots back.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too you giant assh-"

"You're both dreadfully annoying," Alistair declares with a long-suffering sigh. He appears to have given up on his lunch.

"Mm," Masen hums in agreement. He thinks Peter and Emmett should at least pretend to be mature businessmen on their first official day, if only for the sake of their employees, but he's learned not to expect miracles.

Peter scoffs, reaches for more of his food. "Whatever. He started it."

Emmett scowls. "For fuck's sake…"

One of the food truck employees, tall and lean with generous scruff and a surly expression, passes by the table. He stops when Peter flags him down, casually gripping his elbow.

"Oh! Hey! Can we get more of this?" Peter asks, grinning brightly.

The guy stares down at where Peter is still grasping him, and blinks when Peter hastily releases him. "Sure," he says drawls.

Peter, completely guileless, simple creature that he is, beams happily. "It's really great," he gushes. "You know, I took a bite of these empanadas and almost came, it's that good."

The guy coughs, eyes widening as he takes a step back, looking away awkwardly. He might be blushing, but it's hard to tell.

"Christ, Pete, reign it in," Emmett chortles.

Alistair looks on, exchanging a sly glance with Masen, who is also watching the scene unfold with some hidden amusement.

"Why should I have to when the food is this good?" Peter defends himself. He looks up at the guy, who is now pointedly looking in the other direction and almost certainly blushing. "You understand, right?"

"…I'll get your food out right away."

Peter is still smiling even as the guy flees with haste. Masen thinks his obliviousness is truly impressive.

"Good job," Emmett says to Peter. "You scared the waiter."

"Your face scared him," Peter returns childishly.

"You-"

Masen cuts in before they can devolve into another spout of bickering. "Are we ready to be fully operational tomorrow?"

Emmett and Peter stare at him.

"We just moved in," Emmett says.

"Mm."

"The employees are still settling in," Peter says. "They're still in, like, orientation."

"Mm."

"We don't even have a coffee pot, yet," Emmett says plaintively. "It was backordered. Its being delivered next week."

Masen stares at him flatly. Emmett breaks eye-contact first.

"Alright, I'm out," Emmett declares. "Someone else try."

"Mase, can't we take a break?" Peter tries.

Masen thinks about it, for maybe a second, and dismisses the idea immediately. They are a new company, just starting out, and he has coordinated a path forward that will cultivate great success if everything remains precisely on schedule. Humans, he knows, are incredible adapters. The employees of Midnight Sun will learn to keep up or they will fail. And Masen is reasonably confident that his hand-picked talents will be up for the challenge, even the lazy ones like Emmett and Peter.

So, with the smallest of smirks, Masen gives his answer. "No."

"Well, I tried," Peter sighs. He takes a bite out of his food, sulking. "Your turn, Al."

Alistair stifles a yawn. "Why me? I agree with him," he says. "The sooner we get back to work, the better."

"Suddenly I understand why you two are friends," Emmett grouses, eyeing Alistair and Masen with mild distaste. "Workaholics, both of you."

Neither Masen nor Alistair disagree. In fact, Alistair even smiles unrepentantly and says, "Thanks."

Masen, for his part, says nothing in response, but he isn't displeased by the accusation. He doesn't even find anything wrong with being a workaholic. He considers it an asset, if anything.

After all, ambition is never a bad thing.

Peter C. ʘpeteypete
Best food tuck in the world right here ʘNOMAD
(Picture Attachment:
Peter standing in front of a black food truck plastered with maps
of different countries, overlaid on each other, with the word NOMAD
in stylized spray paint over the side. Peter is giving the camera a peace sign.)
#nomnomnom #nomad #foodtruck #sogood

(ʘNOMAD liked this post)

Em for MC ʘmathmagician
This is ʘpeteypete right now
(Gif Attachment:
Fat Bastard from Austin Powers saying "get in my belly".)

Peter C. ʘpeteypete
I can't even be offended because it's true

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Sometime between all the hectic activity of the week, Masen makes time to film segments of script for the video contest. His being busy is no excuse to not follow through on a promise he makes to Swansong - to Bella Swan. Especially because he knows this video is a defense against the petty retaliation other players, including her previous partner, have taken against her.

Masen hadn't fully understood how vicious girls could be until he saw the video posted by Queen V. He knew, intellectually, that girls fought with words more than fists. But to see it in the cybersphere, to see an online bullying campaign happen to someone he cares about - that's different. He understands the cruelty, and beyond that he understands the importance of reputation, especially for players like Swansong.

It is partially his fault that she is dealing with this fallout, he knows. But he cannot change what happened with Hive and Cherry Lane, and even if he could change the past, he doesn't think he would. Messages like those are important to send. And Masen learned a lot about Swansong that day.

He's pleased, even a little proud, that she has found a way to craft retribution for herself that stays in line with her own moral code. It's just another thing he finds attractive about her. If given the choice, Masen isn't sure he would take the high road. He doesn't think many people would. Actually, his first instinct when he saw the video was to hack into all the accounts associated with the video and wreck havoc. Bella Swan's way is, admittedly, a better option.

Peter was right that the script Swansong sent was good. The first draft tells sweeping epic tale of a one-sided love, a sort of genderbent take on the Beauty and the Beast - except in this story, the Beauty is a hostage prince masquerading as a wealthy merchant, and the Beast is the female bandit who abducts him as ransom, falls in love, and ultimately sets him free. The twist itself is tragic. Knowing his duty to his people and encouraged by advisors to eliminate the bandit clan growing too powerful in the countryside, the Beauty returns to the Beast to marry - and at their wedding banquet, the Beauty's soldiers raid the gathering and kill all the bandits. The prince delivers the killing blow to the Beast and the original script ends there.

It would be a fantastic video by itself and would easily net a win. Even so, Masen ropes Peter into filming a final segment, wherein the Beauty mourns over the Beast for the rest of his life. His advisor, baffled, says that the Beauty could have spared the Beast and made her into his true wife, but the Beauty disagrees. She would never have forgiven the betrayal, he says. Instead, the Beauty learns necromancy to summon an echo of his beloved Beast, and the toll of the necromancy eventually drives him insane. This segment of the video ends with the Beauty falling off a cliff in chase of the ghostly Beast.

Peter, upon reading this addition, had simply declared it twice as tragic as before, and Masen had been pleased. He sends the additional segment to Swansong via the game's messaging system later in the week and waits for her reaction with barely bated breath.

》Swansong: this is great!

》Swansong: I'm totally adding it

》Swansong: but can I ask why you filmed it in the first place?

Masen considers the question, then considers how he wants to answer it. His original motivation had been somewhat nuanced, of course - filming this addition is of course an opportunity to show Bella Swan that he has a firm grasp on loyalty, no matter how subliminal the message is. He is playing Beauty and Beauty is so faithful to Beast that he winds up dying for it. He hopes Bella Swan will subconsciously associate this with Master Culler, as well. And beyond that, he wants to do his part to make sure they win this contest, wants to contribute to her retribution however he can.

He can say neither of these things without tipping his hand too soon.

《 Master Culler: extra 3 minutes qualifies us for the grand prize

》Swansong: you created this extra dose of tragedy to stretch the video time?

》Swansong: amazing

《 Master Culler: we might as well go for the biggest prize

She agrees, naturally. She tells him that she will have her sister edit this portion into the video and then upload it in the morning. Masen, seeing an open opportunity to learn more about Bella Swan, to show her that he has an interest in her life, seizes the moment.

He asks about her sister, and it opens the door to new conversation. Swansong is honest, albeit reluctant to part with many specifics. She has two siblings, one younger, one older; he has an older brother. She goes to college; he just graduated. She majors in comp sci; he did as well. Her plans over the summer include tutoring high schoolers; his include running his company. At her surprise that he has a company so soon after graduation, he downplays its initial success - no need to brag when he already seems to have captured her attention. He isn't crass, after all.

For Masen, it seems this first conversation about things not associated with the game is something that sets a new tone in their continued interactions. The next time they talk, she reveals that her brother's new dog follows her around loyally because she slipped it bacon one time; Masen says he deals with the same issue, except not with a dog but with one of his roommates. She wonders if she really laughs, or if her returning lol is just one of internal amusement.

He wants to hear her laugh.

For now, Masen will have to settle for chatting with her in the game. They are several hundred miles apart right now, and he has yet to devise a plan to reveal himself to her. He will have to continue to be patient.

It isn't as though he doesn't have plenty of resources to get to know her. His friends have made a habit out of tagging him or sending him links to any of her online appearances - Emmett tags him in Instagram posts, Alistair has made sure to send him Twitch streaming links, and Peter's new favorite past time is trolling Leah Clearwater's YouTube videos to send the funniest ones to Masen. He subsists on these tokens of Bella Swan, trying to reconcile all the different facets of her personality. And so his nights are spent catching up on links that are sent to him. Tired from the long hours required to get Midnight Sun going, Masen allows himself to bask in the pieces of Bella Swan that he cannot get during the day. She is, for him, a special treat that his friends shamelessly exploit. He can't even be mad at them, because each link it's a chance to learn more about this girl who has so thoroughly snagged his attention.

And he does learn a lot. She's a terrible cook. She has no rhythm. She's tone deaf. She is grumpy in the morning. She whines. She can be childish. She can be too kind. She can be remarkably stubborn. She has a dry sense of humor. She has an appetite that rivals a teenage boy's. She likes spicy, sour, salty food; she has a deep love for dark chocolate. She is handy, a do-it-yourself fixer. She doesn't like to admit when she's wrong.

She is complicated. Bella Swan is a novelty and Masen is charmed. Masen is utterly and profoundly weak for her.

A/N: Don't mind me, just setting things up for future chapters and stoking that slow-burn. This chapter answers the question of if Masen is doing the same slightly creepy deep-dive that Jasper did. Masen isn't; instead, his friends are doing the work for him and he is putting up very little resistance. Is one better than the other? Who knows!

Also, wow, isn't Grandfather Cullen the literal worst? I love that he has zero possibility of redemption. Feel free to hate on him! He deserves it!

Kudos to anyone who sees the secondary plot laid down in this chapter!

As always, be brutally honest. I can take it. Be safe, wash your hands, be smart and don't trust lifted restrictions blindly!

~Rae