[chapter_9]

The Denali Corps. Offices are located in the busiest downtown area of Concord right on a bustling main road that cuts right through the business district. It's a fine building, impressive and tall, looming over the businesses on either side. Intimidating, accented in untouchable chrome ad bright white marble swirled with pale tones of gold and green. Both the building itself and the sterile, if not currently crowded, lobby are statements of power.

Any person to step foot into the crowning jewel of Denali wealth would be understandably cowed - but not Masen. He's grown up in buildings twice as grand, let alone the office buildings owned by the Cullen family. Even their small office in Pasadena is more impressive. To Masen, this flaunting of supposed wealth and power is nothing more than a gaudy, tasteless display.

He expected as much. He's done his research, after all.

At his side, Peter is gaping in obvious open-mouthed amazement. His expression of impressed awe is one that contrasts greatly with Masen's own curated stone moue. It was a good call to bring Peter instead of Alistair, as was his first inclination. Alistair, he knows, would be as unmoved as Masen, and that wouldn't be good. One of them should at least appear inspired by the opulence so as not to offend their hosts.

Bringing Peter is a tactic. This entire meeting is a tactic. Masen, moving through the crowd, keeps his mind focused on the objective.

"So, this is Corporate America, huh?" Peter muses, ducking into Masen's space to mutter even as his eyes rove around the crush of people hungrily. "Look at all these poor drones, stuck here with no dignity, no offices, no healthcare benefits. What a shame, what a true shame."

"Not drones."

Peter stops shaking his head in pity. "Huh? Of course they are! Don't be blind! Look at how soulless they all are!"

"Interns," Masen says with a tilt of his head, a subtle motion to one of the dozens of signs directing intern applications through the registration and waiting process. He notes that even the signs are garish, and finds a place in the line for reception.

"Interns?" Peter looks around, seems to finally notice the signage. "Oh, they're interviewing for interns?"

Masen says nothing. Obvious statements of fact require no response.

"Well, an intern is a kind of drone, isn't it?" Peter asks rhetorically. "Hey, Mase, will we have interns? If we do, we should give them benefits. I'll never forgive all that work I did for that internship freshman year. Do you remember? My fingers almost feel off and I didn't get paid in anything but experience. Let's not do that to our interns, okay?"

"Mm," he agrees. As if Masen would contribute to the plague of capitalism. An entire generation working as free labor so corporate pockets can bloat with greed is not something he plans to perpetuate. It isn't decent.

"Ah, you're right," Peter says after a beat. "It's too soon to talk about interns!"

"Mm."

Peter fidgets, restless as always, as he continues looking around. He manages to keep mostly silent except for aimless humming, as they continue to move closer to the welcome desk. Masen confirms their appointment, signs them in, and then ushers them to the elevators. Once inside, Peter exhales a heavy breath, nerves clearly chewing at him.

The elevator rises to the top floor, and right as it dings Masen says, "Follow my lead."

He barely hears Peter's harried reply, because as soon as they step out of the elevator, Mr. Banner is waiting for them. Masen has already schooled his expression into one of practiced geniality, and meets a similar mask that Mr. Banner wears. Masen's mask, he knows, is much more convincing.

"You're early Mr. Cullen, Mr. Charlet," Banner says by way of greeting, a sharp glint in his eyes. "You know, it says a lot about a man's work ethic when he arrives a meeting early. It seems I was right about you boys."

Masen dips his head, and Peter nods along. "Good afternoon, Mr. Banner," he says, reaching forward for a firm handshake. "Thank you for setting this meeting for us."

Mr. Banner waves him away. "It was no trouble, no trouble at all. If you'll follow me…"

Banner leads them down a stretch of hallway. The theme of cultivated extravagance continues throughout the central offices with displays of golden vases and glass awards of business accomplishments, all of it just this side of tasteful. The office of the CEO is toward the back of the floor and easily takes up a third of the available space with a lounge of low couches just outside the frosted glass doors, a sort of waiting room for anyone who has a meeting. Banner bypasses the lounge and walks them right into the room.

"Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Denali, CEO of our company," Banner says importantly. "Eleazar, these are the boys I was telling you about."

Eleazar Denali is a man in his middling age, grey hairs just beginning to streak through his temples. He is tall and olive-skinned with a plainly calculating, almost hawkish countenance. He wears a three-piece linen suit and a burnished gold tie, shining Italian loafers on his feet, the very picture of old-fashioned business acumen. When they enter the room, he is leaning back on his desk talking to a young woman with strawberry blonde hair with obvious fondness. At seeing them enter, Eleazar Denali straightens up and smiles in greeting.

"Pleasure to meet you find young gentlemen," he says as they exchange handshakes. He directs them to sit on one of two white couches on the opposite side of the room, a glass table in the middle, and just under a floor-length window that allows the natural afternoon light into the room. Masen and Peter take one couch, Denali and Banner the other. "I've heard good things about you, many good things."

"Likewise," Masen says, and Peter sits down next to him, echoing his statement.

The strawberry blonde clears her throat delicately. Masen barely glances at her; Peter on the other hand, makes a quiet noise of recognition before he bites at the insides of his cheeks.

Denali holds up a placating hand. "Ah, right. Would you boys like anything to drink? Coffee, tea? My daughter, Tanya, will be happy to get any refreshments you might like," he offers, solicitous. The calculating glimmer grows brighter. "I heard you boys go to Stanford, too. Perhaps you know my girl?"

"We haven't had the pleasure," Masen denies, polite and succinct, leaving no room for further blatant nonsense. It's obvious, to him at least, that Tanya Denali has either been roped in or roped herself into whatever scheme her father is cooking up.

Masen had arrived to this meeting with a weary mindset. He was not wrong.

Denali, to his credit, hardly falters. "I suppose not! Brilliant young men like you would be too focused on your studying," he says dismissively, the same way a player might be unmoved by the loss of a single pawn. "Well, refreshments?"

"Water is fine," Masen answers. Making either coffee or tea would take too long. He doesn't anticipate this meeting lasting any significant time. Already he can see that Denali is impatient, unaccustomed to maneuvering around someone like Masen who will not be maneuvered.

Denali dismisses his daughter to her errand, waits until the door closes, and then smiles broadly. "Let's get down to business shall we?"

Banner produces a file from between the cushions of the couch. "We've looked through your portfolio and it's very impressive, truly remarkable, that such young men like yourselves have created such a masterpiece. And to learn that Pagan Immortals isn't your only published product? Truly amazing."

"Thank you."

Denali smiles broadly. "Mr. Banner tells me your mobile game is projected to launch this summer?"

"July 31st," Masen confirms coolly.

The Denali girl comes back into the office then, carrying a tray of four glasses filled with ice water and slices of cucumber, lemon, and lime. She sets the crystal glasses down, takes the time to specifically set a glass right in front of him. He spares her a fleeting look, just long enough to see the eagerness in her expression and immediately dismiss her as a poorly-timed ploy.

"That's wonderful! That gives us plenty of time to polish and advertise the product - that is, if you want to sell it to us?" Denali proposes confidently. He snaps his fingers. "Banner, the offer."

Banner passes a sheet of paper to Peter, who looks at it for a moment before his eyes bulge. Peter passes the paper to Masen hastily, and Masen takes a glance at the monetary amount highlighted on the page. He doesn't so much as twitch. Instead, he allows a polite smile to bend his lips, just barely, and silences Peter with a look.

"This is a very generous price," Masen says blandly.

Denali claps his thighs, victorious. "It is, isn't it? You young boys won't find a better offer," he claims, and Banner is quick to agree.

But of course they would think that. They'd written the offer themselves, and had banked on the fact that a few college-kids wouldn't be able to tell a bad deal from a good one. Masen has no intention of changing their assumption, of course.

"Naturally, I must speak with my other business partners about this," Masen says neutrally. "We're all equal shareholders and we must reach an internal agreement before we can accept this offer."

"Of course!" Denali agrees. "Take your time, think it over. The offer will be on the table for you when you're ready to accept!"

Too confident, Masen laments.

"We appreciate it," Masen says, and again Peter is quick to echo the sentiment, although this time there is an edge of bitterness in his tone.

"Ah, what fine young men. Right Banner?"

"Very promising futures," Banner agrees.

But Masen can see through it, can see the greed lurking just under the surface, the waspish instinct to take and consume. Banner might be more obvious in his scheming, but Denali is just as hungry. Their arrogance is nauseating and it chafes at Masen's ego to let them think they have successfully tricked him - but it is necessary. The meeting was a tactic of its own, but not just for Denali Corps.

Masen gained the exact information that he was looking for. He suppresses a triumphant smile and sits through the small talk thinly veiled in condescension, again internally thanking Grandfather Cullen for being as ruthless as he is - otherwise Masen would be like Peter, who is almost visibly annoyed by the time the meeting is over.

As soon as the elevators are in sight, Peter turns to him with a wide-eyed, on-edge expression, brows up and nostrils flared. "Boys? Young men?" he hisses venomously, shooting a dark look over his shoulder. "Ugh, of course that fucking dinosaur would be so patronizing-"

"Peter."

"Shutting up. But I'm shutting up grudgingly," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, crinkling the one formal shirt he owns. "I'm still pissed, though, just so you know."

"Mm."

Peter transfers his glare to Masen, narrowing his eyes with blatant resentment. "Hey, why aren't you as pissed as I am?"

Because I was raised alongside a patronizing, passive-aggressive dinosaur of my own, Masen thinks. Being called boy and having his young age emphasized is nothing compared to being called orphan and urchin to his face, among the many other creative epitaphs Grandfather Cullen has reserved for him. Compared to that, the way Denali and Banner tried to look down on them is almost laughably petty.

Still, he says nothing, merely presses the button to call the elevator and lets Peter stew in wondering how Masen keeps a cool head. Knowing Peter, he'll get over these slights soon enough. He isn't the type to dwell.

Before the elevator can arrive, Masen's name is being called from the offices. "Wait! Masen!" Tanya Denali hurries toward them, the quick clicking of her heels echoing off the marble.

Masen sighs quietly. "Peter," he says again.

"Yep," Peter replies with a bob of his head, eking a step back as Tanya draws nearer. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just…go find a bathroom."

Masen watches him go, resigned. The elevator comes and goes.

"Masen! I'm so glad I caught you!" Tanya gushes. She's the kind of pretty that is popular these days, twig thin with curled ringlets of hair and an obvious love for cosmetics. A conventional, artificial beauty that does not move Masen at all, no matter how much she bats her eyes. "I just want to apologize on behalf of my father. He can be a little old fashioned - he's the same way with my cousin!"

"There was no offense," Masen says politely. "Your apology is unnecessary."

Tanya pouts at him. "Even I was a little upset," she says. "I can talk to my father about a better offer, or even a job here, if you want, for you and your friends. Daddy listens to me!"

I very much doubt that, Masen thinks cynically. Denali probably spoils her and lets her get her way, but he isn't the type to actually listen. If Tanya went to her father for a request like this, Masen bets she would get a few comforting words and a pat on the head.

"I don't think that's appropriate, Miss Denali," Masen replies evasively. He can just barely hear the tap of Peter's shoes on marble and covertly reaches out to call for the elevator again.

"Oh, but I-"

The elevator dings its arrival just as Peter swings around the corner, more settled than when he left. Masen offers a tight smile to Tanya as he steps into the elevator, holding the doors open for Peter. "Thank you for your consideration," he says. "Please tell Mr. Denali to expect my call."

The elevator door close before Tanya can think of a proper response, her gaping expression the last thing he sees as the silver doors close together. Masen resists the urge to rub at his forehead, already very much at his quota for dealing with people for the day.

Peter puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels, and whistles lowly. "Wow, Mase. That was cold even for you."

"Peter."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Peter says as the elevator arrives on the ground floor. Peter rolls his eyes at him, then takes the first step out. "Man, it's crowded in here. More crowded than before?"

Masen doesn't answer. He lifts his head, using his height to try to see the best path out of the building. Peter is right that the lobby is more crowded than before. Masen can't even comprehend why this company needs to interview for this many interns - there can't be that many spots available. It all seems very unorganized. He wouldn't - and won't - conduct his business the same way. All of this showmanship is just a waste of resources.

"These poor, naïve kids," Peter is saying at his side, ignoring the dirty looks he is getting from the prospective interns. "Why would they want to work for this shitty company, anyway? It's not all its cracked up to be! This whole place is just problematic."

Masen doesn't disagree. He does, however, see a way to get through the lobby, and begins making headway in that direction. He's maybe halfway through the expanse of space before he hears a loud, unrestrained laugh, followed by a gentler one that captures his attention at once. He turns toward the sound, seeking the source, hears something about Chinese food -

It's a group of girls, facing away from him, nothing remarkable at all about their group amid all the other clusters. And yet that laugh, the softer one so displaced in this lobby, reminds him of the eye of a hurricane, the calm during the storm. Its sound was soothing. Even is Masen isn't as outwardly agitated as Peter, that doesn't mean he doesn't feel irritated at all. He is keenly vexed, his mind already tumbling toward the next tactic, and this laugh had completely derailed him.

He doesn't think it's a bad thing.

He's stopped in his tracks by now, staring at the group, waiting for one of them to laugh again. But the laugh doesn't come - instead -

Freckles. Long, wavy cinnamon hair. A gentle, high-bridge slope of the nose.

He'd only seen her once and it had been just a glimpse, barely more than her profile as he'd been standing behind her. He'd had a better view of her computer screen, of the handle of her avatar. But it's the same view now, almost the exact same angle - except this time she's turning her head and he can see plush, shell-pink lips pulling into a teasing smile and vivid olive green eyes.

Swansong, in the flesh.

He found her - here, at Denali where she's obviously applying for an internship, of all places.

Serendipity, indeed. His heart quickens, blood thrilling through his veins. He found her. He found her.

By now Peter has notices that Masen isn't moving. He backtracks, comes to Masen's elbow. "Huh? Why'd you stop? You're looking at something…What are you looking at?" Peter, a few inches shorter, cranes his neck around to follow Masen's line of sight and then, strangely, lets out a dramatic gasp. "Masen! Are you looking at a girl?"

Masen says nothing. He's trying to work out the best way to approach her - wait for her to break off from her group, or use a more direct strategy? Ah, but both ways have disadvantages. He doesn't want to scare her off, come on too strong. She appears so gentle, something that is almost at odds with her truly striking beauty. He has to do this right -

"Not that I can blame you," Peter continues blithely. "Who wouldn't stop and look at the campus beauty? You're not alone, my friend, but you are a little late -"

Masen drags his eyes away. "You know her?"

Peter's expression is one caught between exaggerated shock and genuine bewilderment. "Do I…? Do you even listen when I talk?" he demands, poking Masen aggressively on the shoulder. "That's Bella Swan, the girl I was talking about the other day!"

Was Peter talking about a girl the other day? Ah. Right, when Peter and Emmett returned from the library and Peter was shoving his phone in Masen's face. He should have looked. He would have known who Bella Swan - Swansong - was before now.

"Bella's our current campus beauty and the reason why all those dicks in the other departments can't say shit about computer majors being unattractive geeks," Peter brags. "She's, like, a sophomore or something, with some of the best grades in her class. Beauty and brains, if you will."

"Fitting," Masen murmurs. Bella Swan, the beautiful swan moonlighting as Swansong, is the campus beauty. It makes sense. He's more than pleased to hear - even unconfirmed - that she is also known for being intelligent.

Swansong is skillful, beautiful, and smart.

And he found her. But now isn't the right time. She's occupied and he isn't in the best headspace. Knowing her name now, gleaning just a little more information about her, gives him a better place to start, anyway. This girl has status, both online and offline.

She needs to be wooed, Masen realizes.

He casts one final glance at her, then walks away, Peter sputtering nonsensically as he hastens to follow Masen's longer strides.

Masen allows himself one private, victorious smile. He found the girl. Now he just needs to woo her.


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Peter scampers into Masen's dorm ahead of him and announces, "My crops are watered and my skin is clear. I have been #blessed today. I should apply for the lottery or enter a raffle or something. I'm feeling hella lucky, you feel?"

Alistair, who has seated himself on the floor at the base of Masen's bed with a book in his lap, doesn't even look up from his reading. Emmett, on the other hand, spares Peter a single glance before tossing a foam basketball into the plastic net hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The net is one of the few things that haven't been packed into milk crates and cardboard boxes. Emmett claims he needs it to manage his stress until final exams are over; Masen just like to patiently wait for Emmett to get frustrated with his aim until his toss is so hard it bounces back and hits him in the face.

Masen sees the foam ball settle into the net and feels only a little disappointed.

Peter huffs at the lack of response. "Are you listening to me?"

"Why should we?" Emmett wonders, retrieving the foam ball and lining up for another shot.

Peter, very seriously, reveals his news. "Masen looked at a girl today."

Emmett's next shot misses. Spectacularly.

Even Alistair looks up, pale eyes slowly tracking the space between Masen and Peter, as if trying to silently gauge the truth of Peter's statement. After a beat, Alistair mumbles, "Holy shit."

"I know, right?" Peter crows. He takes a leap at Masen's bed, mussing the sheets and blankets as he laughs uproariously.

Emmett, meanwhile, has turned to Masen with something akin to worry. "Mase, my dude…Do you need medical attention?"

Alistair seems to think this is a reasonable explanation and twists around just enough to ask Peter for clarification. "Did he hit his head?"

Peter's laughter dies down into poorly-muffled giggles. "What, like a concussion? I don't think so." He pauses thoughtfully. "But, I mean, I guess it's possible. That, or a lobotomy."

"When would he have time for a lobotomy?"

"You're right, he is a pretty busy guy."

"A concussion then?"

"Seems more likely."

"Should we take him to the med center?"

Masen looks at them, unimpressed, and that shuts them up real quick, although they do still exchange weighted looks when he moves to his desk. Masen pulls out his chair, and sits on it backward, arms folded over the back. "Focus for a minute," he tells them. "We have things to talk about."

Peter sobers up, sitting with his legs crossed on Masen's bed. "Ohh, right. Yeah," he agrees. "Some shit has gone down."

Emmett's eyebrows lift, and he moves to sit on the edge of his own bed, elbows on knees, squeezing the foam ball between his palms. "I thought it was just a meeting?"

Peter scoffs. "Sure, to you it was a meeting and to me it was a meeting, but Masen turned it into a goddamn intelligence mission."

Alistair frowns.

"What?" Emmett asks.

Peter waves his hands in the air. "Right, okay! So, here's how it went down," he begins, and then dives into an impressively detailed account of the meeting. Theatrical as always, Peter manages to mimic the exact expressions of Banner and Denali, even capturing their exact speaking tones. He fully snags the attention of Emmett and Alistair, who each listen raptly with matching expressions of annoyance.

Even Masen listens, entertained despite himself. Peter is really good at impressions.

"So…" Emmett drawls when Peter is finished. "The highlights are Denali is a dick, that offer was a bullshit swindle, and Masen's a goddamn liar?"

Peter shrugs. "Pretty much, yeah."

Alistair raps his fingers against the cover of his book, but doesn't say anything.

"Well," Emmett says. "I did not see that coming."

Peter snorts. "We didn't see it coming," he says, and then points directly at Masen with both brows raised. "But he did! It was like a Jedi Mind Trick or something!"

"There is one working brain cell in this room," Emmett says sagely. "And it's not any of ours."

From the floor, Alistair scoffs. "Let's not insult Masen's glorious intellect," he opines. "He has at least two working brain cells. You, however, are a whole dumbass."

"Fuck you," Emmett shoots back.

Alistair sneers.

Peter bounces on the bed, jostling his feet back and forth, almost hitting Alistair in the ribs. "So, what are we going to do?" he asks, looking at Masen. "What's the plan?"

"Play it cool," Masen answers languidly. "We have time. As far as Denali knows, our launch is eight weeks away."

Peter had been right, of course. Masen is a goddamn liar. He'd smiled at Denali and said Midnight Sun planned to launch Pagan Immortals July 31st - but really, the game will be launched July 1st, as intended. A bit of misleading information can go a long way. Now that Denali thinks that the launch is several weeks off, they won't be dogging Midnight Sun to pressure them to sell their intellectual property for a frankly insultingly low price.

And when Pagan Immortals launches four weeks earlier than Denali expects - well, Masen would be willing to spend a lot of money to see the look on Eleazar Denali's face when he realizes a young man half his age had swindled him so thoroughly.

Even the thought of it sends a vicious twinge of glee skipping down his spine.

"You slick, crafty little devil," Alistair compliments.

"It's a solid plan. I like it," Emmett agrees.

"Yeah, yeah," Peter says. "It's great, but can we focus on what matters?"

Masen looks flatly at Peter, already recognizing the excitement bathed across his face. He resigns himself to the good-natured teasing Peter is gearing up for, having long-since accepted that it's an inevitable part of friendship bonding.

"And that is?" Alistair wonders dryly.

"Masen noticing a girl!" Peter exclaims, managing to look a little offended that such an event was so quickly forgotten. "But not just any girl! I'm not even kidding, our boy laid eyes on Bella fucking Swan and literally just stopped! He was like, executive function not responding and everything!"

Emmett narrows his eyes. "Proof or it didn't happen."

Peter gapes. "Fuck off! Why would I have to prove shit when I have a character witness?" Peter looks at Masen expectantly. "Tell them, Masen!"

What is Masen supposed to say? Confirm that he did, in fact, see a girl? Say that Peter did catch him staring? He isn't sure it matters one way or another. His business with Swansong - with Bella Swan - is his own. And yet, there are three eyes waiting on him for some kind of reaction.

Masen doesn't want to talk about it - so he smirks, one corner of his mouth curling upward at the knowledge that he is that much closer to reaching Swansong.

"See!" Peter crows and claps his hands. "Do you see that shit? That's all the proof you need!"

Emmett looks gobsmacked. "Did I wake in an alternate dimension this morning?"

"Nope!"

"Who is this girl again?"

"You're just as useless as Masen, I swear." Peter huffs and wiggles off the bed, coming to kneel beside Alistair as he pulls out his phone to show Emmett. He spends a few moments navigating a web browser, finding a post on Cardinal Trees, the not-quite-campus-affiliated blog. "Here," he says, lifting the phone to show the screen. "This is Bel-"

"Swanning?"

Three heads swivel to Alistair, who is craning his neck to see Peter's phone. Alistair looks genuinely surprised, but also a bit confused in the furrow of his brow.

Masen is confused, too, and maybe a little angry. Alistair clearly said Swanning, not Swansong. How does Alistair know Swansong by another name? He stares intently at his friend, silently demanding answers.

Peter, thankfully, lacks a verbal filter. "Huh? What're you talking about, Al?"

"I…" Alistair gestures at the phone, scratching at his brow. "That's Swanning. From Twitch."

Peter blinks rapidly. "Are you telling me that Bella Swan, the campus beauty, as a Twitch channel?"

"I mean…yeah," Alistair says.

"What the fuck? How did I not know this?" Peter demands.

As if he has any right to be upset by not knowing things. Masen would also like to know how he didn't know about this - although, logically, of course he wouldn't have known. He only just now learned the name of the girl he's been pining for. He doesn't have a right to be…jealous of Alistair for knowing more about Bella Swan than him.

And yet.

"Is she good?" Emmett asks Alistair.

Yes, Masen answers silently. If Swanning is Swansong, then of course she's good. She's great, immensely talented, and definitely a better player than any of these three who are talking about her right now.

Alistair must have said something confirming her skills, because Peter is shaking at his arm and demanding to see for himself. Alistair takes Peter's phone, pulls up a different website, and navigates to Swanning's channel to find one of her saved live streams.

"Impatient prick," Alistair mutters, before flipping the phone around to show the other three. "Here, see."

"It really is her!" Peter says happily.

It really is her, Masen thinks, a twist in his stomach, something like excitement maybe. They all sit and watch Swanning run through a Halo map with her little brother, each of them awed by her smooth maneuvering. Masen, for his part, is quietly enthralled by the expressions on her face and the way she talks to her brother. She's so - lively, but also reserved, cool under pressure and completely at ease.

He likes it. He likes her.

"Hey, I know her too," Emmett says somewhere in the middle of the video, shocking everyone in the room into a momentary dead silence. The only thing heard in the room is the sound of Swanning narrating how to play Halo.

Masen cuts his eyes to his friend. Does everyone know this girl except for him? It seems like it.

"Huh? How?" Peter asks, flailing. "You didn't even notice her in the library and now you recognize her?"

"I was distracted by my goddess," Emmett says bluntly, uncaring. He nods his chin to the phone. "But yeah, I know this girl. She's on Rosie's Instagram all the time."

"Small world," Alistair muses.

Small world, Masen agrees with a muted sense of dread. It creeps up his throat, latches onto his shoulders, seeps into his thoughts.

Bella Swan is well-known. She's everywhere and that makes her accessible. Everything about her is so effortlessly attractive, and Masen is coming to realize that it might be a problem. For him, at least. Because if Bella Swan is conventionally beautiful, extremely talented, and obviously intelligent, then he's definitely not the first man to have noticed. And that means that he has rivals, hidden rivals who are also vying for her attention.

He tightens his jaw, the muscle ticking away. He has competition now, probably more competition than he thinks. And with more competition comes a greater sense of urgency - very abruptly, his plan of slowly getting to know Swansong through Dawn of Warcraft seems dismally ineffective. It might have worked, but now he's all-too-aware that she's more than just a talented gamer or a random girl.

No, Swansong is Bella Swan, and Bella Swan wears many hats that put her right in the public spotlight - right in the view of others like Masen who are attracted to her brilliance.

Playing the slow game is a stupid tactic now. He has to do something, has to find a way to step up the game, and he has to do it before he graduates, before she leaves campus.

He doesn't even know if Bella Swan knows who he is. He doesn't pay attention to things like that, and even if he did, they've certainly never met until now. If he's an unknown variable for Bella Swan then he needs to correct that as soon as possible - he needs to make himself something that she'll be thinking about over the summer, and not just because she's playing with Master Culler online.

But how?


Peter C ʘpeteypete
That feeling when your bro is catching feelings #gotmeinmyfeels

Masen Cullen ʘmaestro
Get back to work ʘpeteypete


"You seem preoccupied," Carlisle pants, leaning his hands on his knees while he struggles to catch his breath. Sweat stains his shirt and he's grimacing, but he looks happy enough to be on the court.

Masen dribbles the basketball, not half as winded as his brother. He circles around Carlisle, then takes a lazy three-point shot. Beneath the net, Emmett catches the ball and hustles around to the opposite end of the court, Peter's screeching trash talk right on his heels.

"Mm."

"Graduation can be a difficult time," Carlisle notes. He eases himself to stand up straight, but still appears disgruntled. Carlisle had never been the active sort growing up, and it hasn't changed now that he's hit his mid-twenties.

Masen casts his brother a side-long look. He doesn't think graduation is half as difficult as realizing the girl he likes is incredibly - distressingly - appealing to other men. Not that Masen would be saying as much.

Across the court, Emmett takes a shot, but the rebound almost smacks Alistair in the face. Catching the ball Alistair blatantly disrespects the rule against traveling, marches right up to Masen to shove the orange basketball into his chest, and venomously say, "I'm done with this shite."

Masen and Carlisle watch as Alistair finds the nearest bit of shade. Then Carlisle says, "I like him."

Masen snorts.

It's the Saturday right before graduation and half of Masen's fellow graduates had demanded a final game before they left campus for good. Masen had agreed on the condition that he could invite alumni - specifically Carlisle, who hasn't seen the outside of a hospital for the last five days and could probably stand some sunlight. Carlisle had agreed, and swiftly come to regret the decision when it became obvious that Masen only extended the invitation for his own personal amusement. More than once Masen catches his brother muttering how he should have just kept their lunch appointment, how he should have gone home to sleep, how Esme will miss him terribly if he keels over before their date.

Masen, mercilessly, plays literal circles around his brother.

Their game ends with half the players shuffling off the court and the other half chugging bottles of water someone had been thoughtful enough to bring. Peter rolls a bottle of water to Alistair, who is laying on his back beneath a bench, and Alistair flips him off in thanks. Emmett chortles. Carlisle frowns at his now-scuffed sneakers. Masen wipes the sweat off his brow.

Some of the larger group are talking about plans to get lunch, maybe order a pizza to be delivered right on the court as a final good-bye to the campus. Masen looks inquisitively to Carlisle, and Carlisle shrugs, a silent agreement to join if its happening. After all, Carlisle is just as popular now as he had been when he was a student - only instead of classmates vying to be his partner, near-graduates are begging for advice on how to survive in the real world. Masen thinks its almost the same thing, figures Carlisle might miss being needed this way. He's always liked playing the wise man.

Masen is still mopping sweat off his forehead when someone calls for his attention.

"Hey! Are you Masen Cullen?"

Masen turns, takes a look at the speaker. Younger than him, curly blond hair, glasses. Completely unfamiliar. He stares at the newcomer blankly. "I am."

The blond guy has his own basketball and doesn't look cowed in the slightest that he's surrounded by upperclassmen. "You up for a game?"

Masen is slightly winded, but not significantly. He runs a few miles every day, so it isn't as if he doesn't have the stamina to spare. His group don't seem inclined to move any time soon, and if he's perfectly honest, playing basketball with this guy is a much more appealing option than suffering through small talk if he doesn't have to.

So Masen agrees.

The game isn't challenging at all. Usually for one-on-one, it can be difficult to keep hold of an upper hand - nobody is there to guard him, he has to keep the ball by himself, and he doesn't have any support. But this game is a veritable landslide. He scores and scores and scores, and all pretty effortlessly. Maybe his skill level is too high? Masen played all through high school on the varsity team. This blond guy, though, is barely keeping up, and Masen isn't even trying.

He eyes his gasping opponent, trying to figure out the angle. Why approach Masen and ask for a game? This guy was clearly looking for him specifically. Why? What's the motive? A power play, maybe a feeble attempt to establish dominance. But for what?

"Sheesh," Peter says from the sideline. "Dude, you okay?"

Masen also looks at the blond guy, who is now bent on one knee, pushing his glasses up his nose. He's outright glaring at Masen now, to which Masen can only arch his brow.

This guy has some kind of vendetta against him, it seems. It's personal, somehow.

Masen, having no interest in these insipid games, starts to trek back to the other side of the court. His brother is there, looking mildly concerned, and even Alistair has emerged from beneath the bench to watch the spectacle. Masen dribbles the ball as he walks, the sound of rubber hitting pavement almost too loud that Masen doesn't hear what his opponent says.

Almost too loud, though, is not the same as too loud.

"What does Bella see in this asshole?" his blond rival mutters bitterly.

Masen stops, catches the ball, replays the words.

Bella. This guy knows Bella Swan - ah, and even better, this guy considers Masen a rival for Bella's affections. Well. It was going to happen sooner or later, Masen knew that. He just thought his rivals wouldn't be curly-headed twerps who made ill-advised power plays.

Masen isn't sure what his face is doing, but something like a smile is stretching across his lips and the very sight of it makes his friends pale. Carlisle, on the other hand, looks moderately alarmed when Masen turns back on his heel, approaching the blond again.

"How about another game?" Masen offers, tone hard and cold.

The guy looks up from his crouch, heaves a deep breath, and answers with a glare. "Gladly."

This game, like the first, is a landslide - only this time, Masen doesn't hold back at all. Using physical prowess in a sport neither of them are experts in is a flawed tactic to establish dominance, but all that means is that Masen is going to exploit this opportunity. He can meet a flawed tactic and overwhelm it with ability - he can send a message that whether it is on the court, or off the court, he is the better option.

Not that it even matters. It isn't as if Bella Swan is waiting for the winner off-court to sweep her off her feet. And even if she was, Masen sincerely doubts she would care too much about the results of a basketball game. The entire notion - and his losing rival - is stupid. Asinine. Immature.

But Masen is all-too aware that the only way to send a message to someone like this kid is to well and truly crush him. Nothing less than total defeat is enough to get the message across.

And so that is exactly how he plays - with the intent to crush this kid beneath his heel, to scare him off, to remind him of his place. Masen meets fire with a volley of flames, because that's the only way to end things like this. Another lesson gleaned from ruthless Grandfather Cullen.

Masen doesn't say anything when the game is over and he, for the second time, is the only one to score twenty baskets. He stares down his nose at his rival, who is glaring up at him with sweat dripping down his face as he struggles to catch his breath. Masen arches a brow, eyes cold, and then walks away from his would-be rival.

On the other side of the court, his group is gaping at him. He overhears some murmurs of what the fuck is wrong with Masen and what did that guy do to piss him off that he pointedly ignores. Alistair only stares at him blank-faced, while Carlisle is clearly weighing the option of going to check on the blond guy or not.

Peter, of course, is the only one to demand answers directly from Masen. "Hey, man, what the fuck was that about? You annihilated him once and then, what, went back for seconds?"

"Mm." Masen sips at his water, rolling the coldness over his tongue.

"It was like - like, I don't know, a cat playing with a mouse. Only the cat is a tiger and the mouse is too stupid to know it's a mouse," Peter babbles. "Dude, why would you play against him twice? What was the point?"

Masen lifts his shoulder. "I went too easy on him the first time," he answers.

Peter gapes. "That's - that's not a reason!"

Emmett starts a slow clap, duly impressed by Masen's evident ruthlessness.

Masen ignores it all, watching as his blond rival scrapes himself off the court and retreats with his tail tucked between his legs. He considers the message sent, because the guy doesn't even look back at him before he disappears, but Masen still wonders.

How many more rivals are out there? How many more times will he need to fend one off in his pursuit of Swansong? Is Bella Swan worth all the headache and effort? Is Bella Swan, with all her quiet dignity and gentle teasing and unmatched talent and peerless beauty, worth the trouble?

Yes.

Without a doubt.


Carlisle
Is everything okay with you?

Masen
Yes

Carlisle
What happened today?
With that kid?

Masen
Lets call it a personal grudge

Carlisle
Masen, be serious

Masen
I am
And I settled it
Nothing to worry about

Carlisle
If you say so

Masen
Everything is fine

Carlisle
Alright
About your graduation - is it okay if I bring Esme?

Masen
Sure
Esme is great

Carlisle
She is, isn't she?

Masen
Should I start calling her sister-in-law?

Carlisle
You're not funny at all
Also maybe

Masen
Okay

Carlisle
Wait
You won't actually call her that will you?

Masen
(read at 9:48p)

Carlisle
Goddamnit


Masen uses deductive reasoning like a weapon. And it is, in a way. Masen knows he can get anything he wants through deductive logic and decent acting skills. The world around him - and the people in it - all run on their own systems that are easy enough to parse out if he pays attention.

"Even you, orphan, should be smart enough to learn this," Grandather Cullen had said so many years ago, that same summer Masen became a Cullen, the same summer when everything was too much and not enough, when loss was still the ache that kept him from sleep. "You street urchins are already good at manipulating people. Might as well learn how to manipulate the world, too."

Grandfather Cullen, savvy as ever, was right once more - at least partially. Masen had learned these skills, right at Grandfather Cullen's knee, and he puts them to use every day, as easy as breathing. There isn't a single thing Masen can't work to his favor, and he doesn't even have to use invasive means to do so. The tools, as always, are already there for the taking - and deductive skills are his favorite by far.

And it's because of this that Masen manages to locate the dining hall Bella Swan is most likely to go to. His reasoning is something like this: Masen has lived and dined on the Eastside of campus for the last four years and, to his knowledge, hasn't run into Bella Swan. Logically, this can only be caused by one of two factors - either their timing is spectacularly awful, which he doubts since he managed to find her twice outside of campus, or Bella Swan, like him, sticks to her side of campus if she can. Which means she must live on the Westside. Now, the Westside residence halls are largely devoted to co-ed, all-year, all-department housing, which means it's something of a mixed bag compared to the Eastside's tendency to sort residence halls by year level and major. Based on her being a sophomore - a junior, as of her next quarter - that means her residence hall is narrowed down to two buildings based on the amount of students he observed moving out permanently earlier today. By cross-referencing with Emmett, he learned that Rose Hale has three other roommates - and that means there is only one possible residence hall based solely on the fact that quad dorms are kind of rare.

Which means, if his educated guess is correct, Bella Swan lives in Roble Hall - and that means he can pretty well guess the dining hall she will be in. This is another matter of deductive reasoning, one based on the fact that it is likely her last day on campus (she may want nostalgic food) and a simple matter of convenience (she may prefer expediency). Knowing what he does of Swansong, he guesses she would pick the closest dining hall to her dorm building. She - like Masen - is pragmatic.

So that is where he insists on eating lunch, right in the middle of peak dining hours. Peter insists on tagging along, and drags both Emmett and Alistair along, much to the latters disgruntlement. Masen offers no explanation when he is asked why they are going so far for lunch. Let them assume what they want. Maybe they'll think he's whimsical - he's overheard Peter claiming more than once that geniuses like Masen can be as weird as they want because they're just that excellent. He, quite frankly, doesn't care to explain himself for no other reason than it really isn't their business, friends or not.

They've already been circling him over paying attention to a girl in the first place. He doesn't know whether to be bemused or harassed by the attention. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

The dining hall serves good food, mostly an assortment of cold and hot sandwiches, salads, and freshly baked cookies that make Alistair perk up. The din of the dining hall is emphasized by the end-of-year shenanigans that are common to college campuses, including one definitely buzzed streaker. Masen eats his food - pastrami on rye, side of waffle fries - and lets his eyes casually travel over the room, subtly searching for a distinct pattern of freckles or a gentle laugh -

He doesn't have to look far. There she is, bickering with the same girls as before. He is too far away to hear what causes her to wrinkle her nose, to pout, to laugh, but he enjoys watching the emotions feather across her face. There is a plant of some sort that they all seem to be gesturing at, and he finds himself insatiably curious.

Both groups finish their food at the same time. Masen makes sure to take the opposite exist, walking on the wide sidewalk outside the building at a lazy pace. He watches Bella Swan embrace her roommates, absorbs her gentle warmth from afar. There is genuine care between her and the other girls, he thinks, and mentally adjusts his plans. Pursuing Bella Swan also means becoming at least passably friendly with her friends, not just her family.

As Bella Swan says her good-byes, he realizes he has spent the last several hours rearranging his time just to catch even a single glimpse of her in person - and he doesn't even mind. The time spent just being in her orbit is well-spent. He is drawn to her, pulled like a magnet, like a gravitational force.

And that's why his feet stop, and turn. That's why he waits, hands in his pockets, just some distance away, patient for her to turn around and look. This is his first overture, his first tangible plan to woo this girl, and he won't be satisfied until he knows that she noticed him. His own friends, now ribbing each other over some other nonsense, leave him behind without noticing. Masen stays where he is, steeling his will, fortifying his determination.

Bella Swan turns around, her slender hand fumbling for the handle of her rolling suitcase, and as she does her eyes just happen to glance up - rich olive green meeting gelid grey-green - for just a moment, even though the moment seems to stop in time. She is lovely, feminine and soft, dressed modestly and simply. Her mouth is one that begs to be kissed.

Unbidden, helpless to stop it, Masen feels his lips tilt crookedly, a faint smirk settling warmly on his face. He's delighted, smug, so satisfied when Bella Swan blushes in response, a pink that spreads across her freckled cheeks. He can't help but wink, flirtatious.

It's a feeling of well-deserved victory when her blush deepens. He turns away from her with some effort, appeased for now. She's undoubtedly seen him, now. He's confident enough to think he has her attention as thoroughly as she has his.

This is enough, he thinks contentedly, rejoining his friends, blithely ignoring their jeering calls. For now, it's enough. He will have to settle for being patient until she returns from her summer break.

After all, she is not completely cut off from him. Swansong is still there, as is Swanning. He can bide his time. The memory of her blushing so brilliantly will be enough to keep him warm.


A/N: This chapter has a few of my very favorite moments from the C-drama, so I was thrilled to write it. This chapter also saw some of the earlier footwork coming together - Masen knows everything now! For fans of the drama, the reinterpretations are going to keep on coming.

No new handles for this chapter!

Keep staying safe. Stay inside. And for the love of whatever you believe in, don't let your kids play with other kids in the neighborhood. My neighbors are idiots. I have frustrations. Anyway. Wash your hands, wear your masks, be smart.

As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.

~Rae