[CW: hospitalization]
[chapter_14]
"That went rather well," Alistair comments under his breath as they leave the restaurant. He is in an uncharacteristically jovial mood, which for Alistair means he isn't outright scowling at the sight of other people. Like Masen, Alistair is dressed in a casual pressed button-down and slim-fitting slacks, the exact kind of attire appropriate for late-night dinners with investors, relaxed but still right for business meetings.
But while Alistair is satisfied that they had won their investors back from the blatant poaching of Denali Corp - a campaign they started when it became clear that Midnight Sun would not be signing an exclusivity contract or selling their intellectual property - Masen is still working on packing away the full scope of his annoyance. He'd like to blame the investors for being weak-willed, but that would be like blaming a dog for eating a steak rather than waiting for the promise of a steak. The real blame lies in Denali Corp, specifically Eleazar Denali's refusal to accept the reality that he cannot buy whatever he wants.
Fortunately, Eleazar Denali comes from the same class of businessman as Grandfather Cullen, and Masen is well-versed in how to deal with that type of dealing. Investors flock to the greatest promise of return on the investment - all Masen had to prove was that, despite all of Denali's supposed guarantees, the stock and sales of the company aren't up to par. And after that, it was a simple matter of illustrating the great promise of Midnight Sun. Between that cool logic and the impression of Alistair - a well-connected member of the upper crusts of British society - the investors were only a handful of drinks and pretty words before they were back in Midnight Sun's pockets. All according to plan.
Well. Mostly according to plan. Masen, for the sake of toasting the deal with the investors, had not been able to side-step a shared drink. He doesn't enjoy alcohol, associates it with angry rants and smashed glasses and an acrid sting on his cheek, but he will partake on occasion when he has to. Tonight, it had been unavoidable, because meetings like this are always sealed with indulgence, a celebration. It's simply the way of business, unfortunately. One day, he will be in a position where he can bypass these business customs without angering anyone - but for now, a finger of scotch is a small bargain for the money he needs to launch his business. And better that it's him drinking than Alistair, who has absolutely zero alcohol tolerance.
"Think they'll stray again?" Alistair asks as they round the back of the building for the parking lot.
"No," Masen answers simply. This time, he is more than certain of the investor's commitment. Casting even a shred of doubt on Denali's reputation was more than enough to win them back - after all, Masen deals in the straightforward light, while Denali has a tendency to work from the shadows. Between the two, Masen comes off as more trustworthy. He's not above using that to his advantage.
"Well, that's good, because this night has been a right nightmare," Alistair gripes. "You Americans are so loud."
"Mm." Masen doesn't disagree. The investors hadn't held back in their drinking at all, and a few of them are Emmett levels of boisterous, so he understands Alistair's plight. But he couldn't have brought either Emmett or Peter, because while Emmett is the CFO, he is also entirely too friendly to get this type of business done. Alistair was the obvious choice because he can stay on-task in distracting environments, and together Masen and Alistair make a focused, formidable pair that belies their age, which is perfect for impressing investors.
In the parking lot, Masen pulls out the keys of their newly-leased company car, and tosses them to Alistair, who fumbles the catch and then makes a face. "Oi…"
"I drank, you drive," Masen says.
"One bloody sip," Alistair bitches, but he gets into the driver's seat anyway. Of all of them, Alistair is the least comfortable driving, mostly because he grew up driving on the opposite side of the road, but he's also a more safe driver than any of them. Even Masen has a tendency to speed, when he does get the chance to drive.
Masen doesn't say anything on the drive back to their building, running over the entire meeting from the start again, making sure he hasn't missed any important details. He hasn't. The meeting had gone well, the investors are fully hooked again, and he can turn his attention back to the launch - and other aspirations.
They are halfway home when it happens.
He doesn't see it coming - doesn't know how it happened, doesn't see why or where - but one moment Alistair is driving them home, and the next there is a flare of bright headlights - and distinct red tail lights - that seems to come from all directions.
Alistair slams on the breaks, and instinctively swerves away from the lights - but there is a bigger, larger obstacle there, and they are going fast enough that the impact would be worse - so Masen lunges for the wheel, jerking it in the opposite direction, back toward the red, away from the white, and -
The impact is jarring, a quick-snap, a crack of his head, a smash of glass. There is the crunching screech of metal, the roar of engines sputtering, the sound of panicked shouting. Gasoline in the air, and a smell of burning, and something sweet that he can't place.
Everything spins, a sensory overload, until it stops.
Blackness. Silence. Warmth on one side of his body. Then nothing at all.
Turing Is Our Hero (Group Chat)
Peter Panda
Are you guys done yet
Its been forever
Come home
Em Likes Pi
You're only saying that bc
you're hungry
And you want them to bring you
something back
Peter Panda
Well fucking excuse me
Would it kill anyone to bring me
onion rings?
No it would not
Em Likes Pi
Go get your own you lazy asshole
Peter Panda
And what would you know about
the state of my asshole?
Em Likes Pi
Too much dude
I saw the bleach
I know things now
Peter Panda
Wtf
No you don't
You don't know shit
Em Likes Pi
Man if only that were true
Because like
How to delete myself?
Peter Panda
This is an invasion of privacy!
My privacy has been INVADED
Em Likes Pi
Then don't leave you shit out
on the goddamn counter!
Peter Panda
Its in the bathroom!
Em Likes Pi
Yeah NOW it's in the bathroom!
Before that it was on the laundry counter!
Peter Panda
You don't know that!
Em Likes Pi
I don't know what my own eyes see?!
Peter Panda
YES
Em Likes Pi
Whatever goob
.
.
.
Loud. High-pitched, sonorous, ringing. Whiiiir-wooo. Whiiir-wooo. Too loud.
.
.
.
Is that shouting? Masen. Masen! Shouting for him? Why is someone shouting for him? He's right here.
.
.
.
Sharp, astringent smell. He knows this scent. He hates it, associates it with sad things. Wants it to go away. It doesn't. It gets stronger, tagged with copper and plastic.
.
.
.
.
Turing Is Our Hero (Group Chat)
Squidward
Come to the hospital
Em Likes Pi
What
Peter Panda
Haha very funny
You forgot the first half of the joke tho
Squidward
Come to Stan Med
There's been an accident
Peter Panda
Are you okay?
What happened?
Em Likes Pi
Where's Masen?
Al
Where's Masen
Squidward
Surgery
.
.
.
Masen feels like he's floating, totally outside of his body, as if his head is attached to nothing. As if he doesn't even have a head, really. There is no pain, but he is cold - in a remote way. Maybe he isn't cold. Maybe it's just lack of sensation. He doesn't really know.
He's tired, wants to sleep. So he does.
.
.
.
"Dr. Cullen! You can't be here - you can't treat him!"
"This is my brother! I should - I should be the one to-"
"Carlisle…You know you can't…You're not allowed to. It's against hospital policy. You know that."
"He's my brother…"
"I know. I know, and he's in good hands, I promise. I'm going to take care of him, okay? I'm going to take good care of him."
"…"
"Go rest. I'll come find you when I have an update."
.
.
.
It's warmer now. That's good. He likes the warmth because it's better than the cold. His body feels less remote, but somehow still disconnected. There is some kind of pressure, he thinks, on his hands and his head.
His nose feels strange. Blocked, somehow. He doesn't like it, but he can't seem to do anything about it.
.
.
.
"It came out of nowhere," a trembling, low-toned voice says. "The intersection was clear and the light was green, so I kept going - but then that car came tearing through, and the truck stopped mid-turn and then -"
A choked-off gasp, like a muffled cry.
"Hey, man. It's okay. You don't have to-"
"But I do! I do, because I should be the one in that damn bed!"
"Al," someone cautions. "That's not something you get to decide."
A scoff, awful and angry. "Oh, it's not something I get to decide, is it? Because he's already decided it!"
A pause, and then a halting voice, barely pitched higher than the other two. "What do you mean?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" says the first voice, ripe with frustration. "We were driving, and when it got all arsed, we should have hit that damned drunk head-on - except Masen - he - he took the wheel and steered us into that truck instead, even though it meant his side was getting the worst impact! He - he saved me -!"
The sound of crying, a scream muffled into hands or a shoulder, a beat of a fist against flesh and wall. This goes on for some time, a terrible tantrum, a muted fit thrown in near-silence, a sniffling nose and shushing voices.
"He saved me," the first voice says again after a long, long time. "At the expense of himself, he saved me. That's…if I never thought Masen Cullen is a better man than any of us, I stand corrected. He's…"
"He's Masen," another voice says firmly. "He'll pull through this. He's strong."
"A mind like his…" The voice trails off, then returns more firmly. "Yeah. A mind like that won't be wiped out so easily. You'll see, Al. He'll wake up soon and you can cry all over him again."
"I should pledge my life to him," the first voice says suddenly. "I owe him a debt that can never be repaid. I should pledge my entire life to -"
"Uh…You know, maybe nothing so drastic?"
"Yeah. Like, a card can basically do the same thing, right?"
"I saw some in the gift shop."
"Great idea. Let's go to the gift shop and get Masen a card. I bet they have really ridiculous ones that will make him make that face, you know the one? Where he's bitching internally, but won't actually say it out loud?"
"One of his best faces!"
"I shouldn't…I should stay. He shouldn't be alone."
A snort, almost amused. "What are you, his wife? He already has one of those, he doesn't need another. He'll be fine if we leave for a bit. Besides, didn't that doctor want to put a cast on your arm?"
"Oh…I suppose…"
"Come on, Al. Let's get some air. Masen will be there when we get back - and he's going to be fine, just wait."
.
.
.
.
"What is the prognosis, Dr. Russo?"
"You know you can call me Renata, Carlisle. We're friends."
A heavy sigh. "Right now, you're the physician who treated my brother, so I need you to be Dr. Russo."
"Alright." A pause, then a low tap, like a fingernail against glass, a familiar sound. "Here, this is his chart. As you can see, when he was brought in, he was already suffering a moderate subdural hematoma -"
"I can see how severe it is, Dr. Russo, you don't have to candycoat it."
"Fine, a severe subdural hematoma. We took him directly into surgery to drain the blood and control the bleed. Our last CT scan showed the bleeding has stopped and his brain is beginning to heal. We also stitched the wounds here and here, though I'm afraid this one will leave a scar."
"Masen has never cared about scars. What else?"
"His neck and spine were not injured in the crash, although he does have many bruises and cuts. We had some concerns about his leg, particularly his knee, which was caught beneath the buckling dashboard, but it seems to be okay. We'll have to wait for him to wake up to see if he feels any pain. If he does, he might require some physical therapy…Carlisle?"
"What about brain damage? Masen - he's -"
"We won't know about brain damage until he wakes up. Right now, he has a considerable concussion, but we can see positive signs here. Look at his brain activity. I'm not worried."
"He's going to wake up, then?"
"Yes. He will wake up. Right now, we have him in a medically induced coma to allow the hematoma to heal and oxygen to make sure he's getting an adequate amount of air. We'll be easing him off the IV in the morning." Another pause, this time longer. "We aren't worried about brain damage, Carlisle. Everything looks good. We're just being cautious because it's a brain injury. You know that."
"I know that. I do, but…he's my brother. I taught him how to ride a bicycle and how to tie his shoes…"
"He's going to wake up soon. He's young and healthy. You have nothing to worry about."
"…If it's alright, can I stay here for a while?"
"Of course. Don't fall asleep. Your shift starts soon."
"Thank you, Renata."
"Anytime, Carlisle."
.
.
.
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Masen wakes up sore all over, with eyes crusty from sleep blinking up at a glaring white light and a mouth dry and tacky from disuse. He's foggy between the ears, somehow indistinct, like he isn't quite operating on all cylinders. There's a misfire, somewhere.
He doesn't know the lights overhead, or the periodic beep, or the sharp, clinical scent in the air. Well, no, that's not right. He doesn't know these things, but he knows what they are, what they signify, what they mean.
He's in a hospital.
Why is he in a hospital? Aside from feeling like he got ran over by a truck?
A truck. Truck. That's familiar. Why is that familiar?
Oh. He hadn't been run over, but there had been a donut truck involved.
Masen blinks at the lights, feels the scratch of cheap cotton against his skin, the cold in the air, the pressure around one finger, the way the back of his hand is so tender. He's been hospitalized after that accident. He must not be in too bad condition if he's waking up, and certainly not if he's waking up with only a vague sense of displacement. He does have a somewhat wobbly feeling in his stomach, likely a reaction from a medication. From what he knows from Carlisle's impassioned ramblings, Masen takes all this to mean that he's probably been admitted for treatment and is now working off the medication in his system.
He's fine. Or he will be fine very soon.
He's very thirsty, though.
Masen turns his head, searching for a cup to drink from or a button to press to request water, and finds a somewhat odd collection of people piled on and around the burgundy vinyl couch set beneath the narrow window on the far side of the room. He easily recognizes Anne and Thomas Cullen, who are huddled together with wan faces, but it is his roommates that truly throw him - Alistair in particular looks completely out of sorts, sporting a wide purple bruise along one side of his face and a brilliant red cast on his right arm.
The sound of his shifting on the thin cotton sheets and crinkling paper is enough to wake this small collection of people, because the next moment Anne is bending over him, fussing at his blankets, gingerly touching his hair and his jaw. She's crying, hiccupping something that sounds like relief, but which mostly seems like hysterical crying. Seeking clarity, Masen's eyes shift over to Thomas, who is teary-eyed but seeming to hold strong.
"Water," Masen croaks, still staring at his adoptive father.
Thomas Cullen doesn't have a chance to so much as reach for anything before a cup is being thrust under Masen's nose from the other side of the bed. It's Peter, crying a volley of tears so violent the cup shakes in his grasp. Emmett has reach over him to steady the cup enough so that Masen can actually drink. At the foot of the hospital bed, Alistair looks on, stricken.
That's right. Alistair had been in the car, too. Alistair clearly as a broken arm, but he's still walking around. Masen absorbs the worry painted clearly on these faces, takes in the way Anne is still hovering and crying, and silently reconsiders his first estimation of his wellbeing.
It must have been more serious than he previously assumed, then.
"It's good to see you awake, son," Thomas manages after Masen finishes quenching his thirst. He reels an arm around Anne's waist, pulling her back enough to give Masen room to breathe. "We've been worried."
"Oh, when we got the call -" Anne breaks off. She strokes a hand down Masen's cheek with a tremulous smile. "But you're awake now. I'm so relieved."
Masen furrows his brows. They're all acting as if he's been asleep for days, which surely can't be the case. Because if he was asleep for days, then that means…
Masen clears his throat, trying to work the scratch out. "How long…?"
"Ten days."
"Eleven," Alistair corrects quietly. "It was after midnight when the surgery…It's been eleven days, mate."
Eleven days.
Eleven days?
Masen's eyes widen infinitesimally. Eleven days, one-third of a month, is a significant amount of time to lose. Masen had many things planned for the eleven days he's been asleep, and he's missed all of them. Including -
Swansong. Bella Swan.
Something of his alarm must show on his face, because Anne goes back to fretting over him, asking if he's in any pain. Thomas steps in, gently drawing Anne away with a promise that they would go find his attending, Dr. Russo, and Carlisle, who is working somewhere in the hospital right now.
Masen's eyes, which seem to be the only part of him that doesn't ache in such a keen way, trail after his parents as they leave the room. A private room, he notes in the back of his mind. He waits until the door latches closed before raising his eyes to stare seriously at his closest friends.
"Swansong," he says simply.
Three pairs of eyes widen. They'd forgotten about Bella Swan, that much is obvious. Masen - Master Culler - was supposed to have been fighting in that tournament, but then the accident happened, and it's more than obvious that each of his friends had forgotten to inform Swansong over the last week and a half about it. Which means that Swansong has no idea what happened to Master Culler. Which means, to Swansong, Master Culler and his friends vanished off the face of the goddamn planet without any warning.
"Shit!" Peter exclaims, rather succinctly in Masen's opinion.
"We didn't tell her," Emmett says with a wince. He withers somewhat under the force of Masen's glare, which is muted considering how off Masen feels, but is still plenty powerful enough to cow its victims. "Right. Uh. We probably should have told her? Yeah…"
Alistair, if possible, looks more brittle than before. "We should tell her now."
Peter practically jumps away from the bed, hustling over to a backpack tucked into the corner of the vinyl couch, sniffling away his lingering tears even as he says, "I can fix that! I can fix that with a little backdoor programming - See, just wait, the next time she logs on, we'll be able to tell her…"
Peter, having opened his laptop and evidently logged onto the game with the hospital wifi password, makes an aggrieved expression. He darts a look to Masen, apologetic.
Masen closes his eyes. He can already guess. Knowing Swansong as well as he does by now, he can guess that she would have messaged all of his known acquaintances to gather any news about Master Culler's sudden disappearance. Pestulant has a message on his account - he would wager that Pythagoras and Hermit also have messages waiting to be read as soon as they log on. He probably as more than a few waiting on his account, as well.
Bella. Swansong. I'm sorry for not showing up.
"Should I, like…." Peter trails off.
Masen heaves in a cleansing breath and opens his eyes. "Send her a message," he instructs Peter. "Tell her the basics - and that I'll message her as soon as I can."
Because this is something only he can fix. Accident or not, Masen knows what broken trust looks like, and he never wanted to give Bella Swan a reason to doubt him.
He has to make up for it.
But he also has to get out of the hospital first, and that proves to be something more involved than he anticipates.
Apparently, Masen had cracked his head hard enough in the crash that he had a serious brain bleed on top of a concussion, which had involved surgery and a concern about brain damage. He meets Dr. Renata Russo, evidently a good friend of Carlisle's in the same residency program, and learns about all the measures that were taken to save his life. It's a lot. His injuries were not insignificant, but he'd gotten lucky - his neck and spine are okay, and he has full motor control so the hit to his head hadn't caused any physical complications. He does have to sit through three individual examinations for cognitive function, but he passes those with flying colors.
When Carlisle gets off shift, he hugs Masen for countless minutes. If Carlisle cries into Masen's shoulder, then neither of them say anything about it.
He's still kept in the hospital for another two days, being monitored for observation just in case his condition takes a spontaneous nose-dive. He spends those two days with a new coil of anxiety, a tension that barely eases off when Peter reports that Swansong is waiting for Master Culler to contact her personally.
Masen, for the first time in a long time, is impatient. He doesn't want to be in the hospital. He wants to go and fix things and - and -
Well. He knows what he wants. What does Swansong want?
There are thankfully other things to occupy his attention. He learns that during the eleven days he'd been in a medically induced coma that Pagan Immortals launched with great success. In fact, the first sales of Pagan Immortals at the app stores had exceeded expectations. The investors Masen carefully won back are beyond satisfied; he imagines that Denali Corp is seething, especially since the launch of the mobile game came out of the blue, to them. Masen listens attentively as Emmett - somewhat reluctantly - reads out the sales reports and as Peter brags that their servers are running at full capacity.
Midnight Sun has successfully launched their first game and people are paying attention. Masen opens his email to a swath of messages from reporters, all who want to know what's next for Midnight Sun - he has an equal amount of emails from more interested parties, those who want to partner and promote and create with Midnight Sun's creative, youthful team. Masen replies vaguely to both the reporters and the other interested parties. Everything is going according to plan. After all, Pagan Immortals is not the only mobile game Midnight Sun has in production.
Masen, of course, has higher goals. There's been rumors for over a year about a sequel to a certain game, and he wants that contract more than he wants anything. Well, almost more than he wants anything. Pagan Immortals being received with great critical and commercial review is only step one to the legacy that Masen is starting to weave. An important step, of course, but he's always had big dreams.
He tucks his quiet satisfaction with Pagan Immortals away, keeping it safe so he can enjoy its taste again and again. One success is not enough; he knew it wouldn't be, because it never is.
The pieces are all falling into place. One at a time, just the way they should, all just like he planned.
By the time he is released from the hospital, Masen is metaphorically chomping at the bit to get home and get to his computer - get to Swansong. Alistair elects to bring him back to their building, riding in an Uber since their new company car is currently totaled, although Emmett is evidently sorting that mess out with their insurance.
Alistair is quiet - more quiet than normal - on the ride home. Although Masen is bruised, bandaged with new stitches pulling at his hairline and cuts glancing across his cheek from broken glass, Alistair is somehow the one who looks worse between the two of them. Already pallid, dark shadows have formed beneath his eyes, and the vibrant red shade of his cast is somehow jarring. He looks guilty, like a dog waiting to be kicked.
Masen doesn't like it. And since he cares about his friends - in his own way - he sets out to fix Alistair before he gets swept away in his other plans.
Masen cuts right to the point, because he can guess where Alistair's thoughts are. "It wasn't your fault."
Alistair confirms Masen's suspicions when Alistair's pale eyes turn to him, squinted in some heavy emotion he can't quite name. "I was the one driving," Alistair argues lowly. "I should have-"
"There was a drunk driver," Masen counters mildly, hushed because he knows their Uber driver can hear them. "There was nothing you could have done."
"But I-"
"Either way we would have been hit," Masen continues flatly. "It made more sense for my side to take the brunt of the impact than yours to minimize damage."
"Masen, your life is worth more than just - than minimizing damage."
Masen raises a brow, ignoring the dull throb of pain that accompanies the action. "And your life is worth more than not minimizing the damage to mine." He pauses, a frown crossing his face as he considers an angle that Alistair has obviously overlooked. "Alistair. If I had done nothing, don't you think the head-on impact would have killed you?"
Alistair is speechless, because apparently he had not realized this at all. Masen leaves him to this revelation as the Uber pulls up to their building. He climbs out of the car, nudges Alistair, and pays the rideshare. Inside, he walks into a wall of men in their mid-20s, all clapping and cheering at his safe return. He lifts his chin, resists the urge to wince at their shared volume - especially Peter and Emmett - and stares them down as he makes an offhand comment about glad to be back and let's get back to work, even as he taps at the keypad for the staircase door. He takes the stairs slowly, one at a time, gripping tightly onto the handrail as his head spins.
He needs to sit down. He'll sit down upstairs, in the privacy and quiet of his own room, away from others where he doesn't have to put on an affable-as-he-can-be face. He'll sit down and rest his eyes and gather some semblance of a coherent thought, and then he'll make the leap he needs to win over Bella Swan.
Somewhere between staggering into his loft and collapsing face-down on his bed, Masen realizes he is very much done with wooing Swansong over virtual reality. There are, of course, several reasons for this - for one, he doesn't even know if his efforts are effective, and for another, he's just come to the awful existential realization that he doesn't have all the time in the world to woo a girl. Accidents happen. He should seize the moment.
Hopefully what he's done up to now has been enough. Standing her up at the tournament notwithstanding - especially as this had been entirely out of his control - Masen thinks he's made some kind of positive impression on Swansong. He's almost positive she sees him as a friend rather than just Master Culler, because why else would she ask for advice and start inane little conversations? Surely those are signs, right?
It might be the concussion talking, but Masen wonders if he should have asked Carlisle for advice.
No.
Rather not risk the opportunity to be teased mercilessly. He'll figure it out on his own.
With that in mind, and with his lingering pain being sufficiently banked for the time-being, Masen draws himself out of bed and shuffles to the desk in his living room. He wakes the laptop up, double-clicks the Dawn of Warcraft icon, and logs into the game. He ignores the mess of the public chat, going directly for the kill as he pulls up his private chat with Swansong.
There are several messages from her, all unanswered, all asking about where he is and if he's okay. They hurt to see, mostly because they give away exactly how distressed Bella Swan was about his disappearance. The messages make his chest ache as he reads them, but he knows that they hurt her more, especially when they were never answered.
Masen sets out to rectify what he can. He's certain, with time, he can make up for this.
《 Master Culler: Swansong
What should he say now? How should he phrase it? How does he not sound awkward and stiff? Masen doesn't know. It's a new desire for him, to want to be approachable. He doesn't know how to do it, not in any genuine, uncalculated way, so he opts to be truthful instead.
《 Master Culler: I'm deeply sorry about the tournament
《 Master Culler: there was an accident
《 Master Culler: I've only just gotten back from the hospital
Mollified by his own attempt, clumsy though it may be, Masen sits back and waits. Swansong isn't logged on yet. He has some time.
He sets the volume higher on his computer, then stands up, goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He desperately wants to take a shower, to get the feel of car crash and hospital off his skin, but he isn't allowed to wash his stitches until tomorrow, which means he can't wash his hair until then, either. He entertains half a thought about changing his clothes, but swiftly puts the idea away when his computer pings with a message notification.
Masen doesn't run, because he has a concussion and he isn't allowed to do that for a while, but he does hasten back to his computer.
》Swansong: Pestulant told me about the accident
》Swansong: I don't care about the tournament, there's always next year
》Swansong: are you okay?
There's always next year. Masen breathes in deep. Is that a throw-away comment, or does she really mean they should do the tournament next year? Is this Swansong, beautiful Bella Swan, saying that she thinks they will still be allied in a year?
He hopes so, but he's wise enough to know she probably didn't mean it. Not yet, anyway.
《 Master Culler: I'm fine
》Swansong: Pestulant said there was a surgery?
》Swansong: and that you were in a coma?
》Swansong: and that they were worried about brain damage?
Peter, Masen laments with ire. How is that only telling her the basics? Masen should have asked Emmett to message Swansong instead - Peter was entirely too honest. He can see plain as day that knowing the details only caused Bella Swan more worry.
"I'll just dock his pay," Masen mutters.
《 Master Culler: I really am fine
》Swansong: I'm relieved to hear that
》Swansong: I was getting pretty worried
《 Master Culler: I'm sorry for worrying you
《 Master Culler: but I know how I can make it up to you
Masen holds his breath, letting the air catch and still in his lungs. Will she take the bait? He doesn't know. He hopes so. This is the perfect opening.
》Swansong: you don't need to make it up to me
《 Master Culler: I want to
》Swansong: okay then
》Swansong: I'm all ears
All or nothing, Masen thinks, and then he sends the message.
《 Master Culler: let me take you out for coffee
》Swansong: lol
》Swansong: did your account get hacked?
Masen grins sharply at the immediate skepticism. This girl - He doesn't even have the words for how much that quick volley entertains and pleases him.
《 Master Culler: no, my account did not get hacked
《 Master Culler: I really want to meet you for coffee
Masen waits, fingers tapping the edge of his desk. He can see the ellipses of Swansong type and re-typing a response. She does this for two minutes - he counts - before a reply finally pings on his screen.
》Swansong: I'd like that too
Masen does not hiss out a victorious yes or pump his fist, because those things would be undignified and beneath him, but he does relish in Bella Swan's acceptance for more than a few moments. This too will be a feeling he will save to savor later, because he doesn't want to forget it.
Bella Swan - Swansong - agreed to meet with him, in person.
He can't underscore the feeling of winning enough.
Alice Bee ʘaliceseesyou
What do you do when you think your friend has a date but your friend doesn't think they have a date? #noreally #thatsthesitch
Peter C. ʘpeteypete
My best bro definitely has a date that he is definitely not talking about #cantrelate
"It's not a date," Bella says two days before her summer midterms. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, trying to make an objective opinion, and begins to shimmy out of the white skinny jeans she just spent three painstaking minutes squeezing into. The high-waist denim skirt, just above knee-length, goes much better with the marled, grey Hufflepuff cropped shirt and the new camel-colored mules she just bought.
Alice, watching Bella change one part of her outfit for the third time, looks on with an air of bemusement, chiming in with a helpful bit of fashion advice every now and again. Still, she's fixated on perpetuating this back-and-forth they have going and has even dragged Twitter into the argument, somehow.
"It's not a date," Alice repeats, tone ripe with disbelief. She shakes her head. "How can it not be a date? It has all the criteria of a date - an obvious case of nerves, a promise of coffee and conversation, and even new shoes!"
Bella slips the last button on the denim skirt into its hole and then ruffles her hair. Her eyes skirt away from Alice's pointed stare as she defensively says, "I needed new shoes anyway!"
It's not precisely true. Sure, buying new shoes is a particular kind of pleasure for a lot of girls, but Bella had never gone gaga over the latest trends cooked up online. She had shoes that worked for her, which meant they were utilitarian and versatile. She had one pair of heels, tossed in the back of her closet in Forks, that she hadn't touched since graduation. Spontaneously splurging on a new pair of shoes, no matter how cute or how on-sale, is admittedly suspicious.
Alice seems to agree, because she hops off Leah's bed and circles around where Bella is neatly folding all her clothes, putting them back in their designated places now that she is dressed for the day. "Bella, you dragged me to go shopping," Alice says with feeling. "Not that I mind, you know I love finding a good bargain, but you don't shop for anything unless it's falling apart and needs to be replaced, and yet…"
And yet you dragged me to go shopping, Alice seems to say, her eyes widening to solidify her point, trying to get Bella to connect the obvious dots.
"It's not a date," Bella insists.
What's the difference between insistence and denial, anyway? A little nugget of truth?
"Uh huh."
"It's not," Bella repeats.
"I believe you!" Alice exclaims, holding her hands up with a laugh. She dances out of the room, light on her bare feet, surely off to prepare for whatever it is she has going on today, leaving Bella blissfully alone so she can face her not-so-blissful truth.
Because, in spite of everything Bella has been saying for the last two days, she is definitely, 100%, without a doubt going on a date.
Because Master Culler definitely, 100%, without a doubt asked her out on a date.
A coffee date. With Master Culler. Today.
Bella doesn't know what she was thinking! Except, no, she does know what she was thinking. She was so relieved to have actual contact with Master Culler after over a week of radio silence that she agreed to meet up with him without so much as a second thought. And it's very unlike her, because Bella had silently promised to never meet another player in real life, because Bella had kept that promise even throughout all of the pressure from Relentless - but the second Master Culler even entertained a facsimile of a plan, she had agreed with the kind of thoughtless, immediate enthusiasm that she was embarrassed about for hours afterword.
But can she help it? Is it even really her fault that she wants to see Master Culler with her own eyes and make sure he's okay? He'd disappeared, out of the blue, for over a week, and the first thing she heard about him was through Pestulant, who true to his dramatic nature had painted an awful tragedy of a car accident. Can anyone blame her for agreeing to meet - for agreeing to a date-not-date - the minute Master Culler returned?
No. Bella doesn't think so. Of course she would want to meet him, this guy who she has developed feelings for though virtual reality.
But that doesn't mean she wants the added pressure and attention from Alice and Leah and Rose and, apparently, a significant number of people on Twitter who are now trending #thatsthesitch as the latest meme for clueless millennials. Who knew that Bella's self-denial would go viral like that? Her only salvation is the fact that Alice didn't tag her directly!
Bella breathes in deep, trying to cool her internal waters. She doesn't need to get worked up about anything, including the fact that she would be meeting Master Culler at The Coffee Circuit in less than 3 hours.
Nothing to freak out about here. Everything is fine. Totally, completely fine and not nerve-wracking at all.
She almost believes it.
Piping Hot Tea (Group Chat)
Thorny
Okay virgins listen up
Paparazzi
Don't include me in this
I don't believe in virginity
Thorny
Sounds like something a virgin
would say
Paparazzi
Sorry, too ace to care
Thorny
Fair point
Okay
Virgins and voyeur listen up
Paparazzi
Acceptable
Go on
Thorny
I in all my wisdom have advice
you may find helpful
Paparazzi
Is wisdom code for serial dating
Thorny
Yes
Also no slut shaming in this house
Paparazzi
:)
Thorny
ANywAy
You virgins should pay attention
I have priceless advice
Hello
Paparazzi
Are they not here?
After all of that?
Thorny
All messages marked unread
Wtf
What are they doing?
Paparazzi
Idk
Class
Internships
The list is endless
Thorny
Oh haha
Whatever
I'll just leave the advice for
the virgins to read later
So, Rule #1 pay for your own shit
Short Cake
Hi!
Let me catch up!
Oh wow!
Who are virgins?
Paparazzi
What
Thorny
What do you mean who are virgins
You are virgins
You being Alice and Bella
Short Cake
Oh
But I'm not
Paparazzi
What
Thorny
You were in May!
Short Cake
So, I might have left out
some things about my vacay
Paparazzi
WHAT
Thorny
Bitch do you SEE the name of this chat
Spill the damn tea!
Short Cake
Lol
Masen is nervous.
He hasn't ever been someone prone to nerves. Masen Cullen does not get nervous, not about people and not about things. He learned to not be nervous, because being nervous was the first step to being vulnerable. Nerves, he knows, are an open invitation for failure.
And yet he can't quell his nerves - they are there, a livewire snapping for oxygen, and they don't seem to be going anywhere, settling in his stomach and trembling there with anticipation.
Masen is nervous, for perhaps the first time since he was a newly-orphaned child and he was greeting his new parents, not as their god-child but as their son. He hadn't really had much cause to be nervous since, because nerves stem from uncertainty and Masen is never uncertain about anything.
He didn't think he would be uncertain about finally meeting Swansong - finally talking to Bella Swan - in the flesh. What did he have to be uncertain about? This, of course, is arrogance. Masen realizes - abruptly and belatedly - that he is not as prepared as he thought he would be.
Swansong, Bella Swan, Swanning in real life is not the same as in virtual reality. He had seen her from a distance enough times to know that she is softer and brighter in the flesh, and knows well enough that he is not desensitized to it. He has pinned for her, has manufactured this opportunity to finally speak to her, face-to-face, but he is not prepared for it.
This is where the nerves come from - he doesn't want to mess up. He wants to impress her, dazzle her, win her over, but he doesn't know - can't know - if his efforts so far have been enough to woo her. He's never done this before. The idea of a misstep is, in a word, terrifying.
Masen feels alien in his own body, which thrums and flutters and quivers in turns. Where is his steady metronome? Where is his unflappable cool? Gone, blown away by even the mere notion of what can only be a date.
A date with Swansong, Bella Swan, Swanning.
Masen makes the final adjustments to the crisp press of his monochrome geometric button-up, triple-checks the fly on his dark jeans, and scoops up his phone, wallet, and the keys to his parent's house, where he has been tasked with picking up and dropping off something for one of his mom's classes.
He checks the carefully careless coif of his hair, spritzes himself with cologne, and pointedly ignores Peter's chortled heckling as he leaves the building, slipping into an Uber that will take him to his parents house, and then to campus.
Two more hours.
Turing Is Our Hero (Group Chat)
Peter Panda
Everyone saw that right
Everyone saw mase leaving
For a date
With Swansong?
Em Likes Pi
Oh I saw it alright
Was it just me or did he seem
I dunno
Peter Panda
Frazzled?
Shitting himself with nerves?
Smelling like a perfume counter?
Em Likes Pi
I choose D, all of the above
Squidward
Don't you have work to be doing?
Stop blowing up the group chat
Em Likes Pi
You're only saying that
Cause I can see you
And youre playing Solitaire
Not even the good Solitaire
Squidward
Fuck off
Em Likes Pi
You first
Peter Panda
Buddies, not to butt in here
But can we get back to the point
Which is masen
Dating
Swansong
I just
!
Em Likes Pi
If she's smart she'll run away
Squidward
Doubtful
Em Likes Pi
Suck up
Peter Panda
Mad Hatter
Mad Hatter I want to be your
best man
I did the most for your relationship
Mad Hatter
Get back to work
Or I'll move up the deadline
Squidward
Now look what you did
Peter Panda
D: D: D:
Em Likes Pi
Do you think he'll be less of
a hardass when he gets laid?
Peter Panda
No
Squidward
No
Mad Hatter
Docking your pay
Oceans by Design is, admittedly, a somewhat strange course for a computer science joint major to take, but Bella chose the class specifically because she has an interest in marine life, having grown up near the unpolluted beauty of La Push. The fact that she needed a summer course design credit for her graphic design degree and this class happened to have an opening is a happy coincidence. Bella isn't going to complain. Besides, she can see where she can apply computer engineering to helping clear the aquatic ecosystem - hadn't there been a water drone that was programmed to pick plastic out of shorelines? She could conceivably do something like that, so it's not as if the class is a wasted credit.
Of course, it had been a shock to learn that the Professor Cullen who taught the class was actually Masen Cullen's mother. No resemblance, except for the last name. Bella wouldn't have made the connection if Professor Anne Cullen hadn't made a passing comment about her son earlier in the course.
Bella walks into the small lecture hall and bites her tongue against asking her professor if Masen Cullen is okay. Bella had seen the news and has been keeping up with whatever reports are released, but aside from a single sentence suggesting all individuals involved in the accident have been released from the hospital, there isn't much to go on.
She can't just casually ask her professor about her son. She can't. That would be crazy. Bella needs this class. She doesn't need to badger her professor about her personal life.
So Bella walks into the lecture hall, finds a seat near the front row so she can better see the presentation being set up, and starts to organize her notes and notebook. The midterm test for this class is next week and Bella is determined to be prepared.
She is so busy with her single-minded set up that she completely misses the exchange by the lectern until one of her classmates gets rather unsubtle about the whole thing.
"Is that Masen Cullen?" comes the barely-contained squeal.
A male voice, pitched low in a whispery hiss. "Didn't he graduate?"
"He did," says the first squealer. "He like literally just graduated?"
"What's he doing here?"
A scoff. "Don't you know? His mom is the professor!"
"Still…"
Bella, wide-eyed, looks at the front of the room where Masen Cullen is indeed passing over a stack of binders over to Professor Cullen, who is actually patting his cheek in thanks, careful of the bruises on one side of his face. Masen Cullen lets this happen, offering his mother an upturn of his lips, a smile without artifice.
Masen Cullen, she thinks dimly. Well. He certainly looks okay, if not a little battered and bruised. Healthy. Not in a hospital still, which she counts as a very good thing for the future of the technology industry. Among all the other news she had been following about him post-accident was the drop of his start-up's mobile game, Pagan Immortals, which she had wasted exactly zero time downloading.
The game is, of course, excellent. Challenging, innovative, a true top-tier with such gorgeous graphics she almost wants to weep about it every time she plays the game.
Bella regains her equilibrium quickly. It's a surprise to see Masen Cullen, but it's a welcome surprise. How nice that he's doing well after that accident. And he's a dutiful son, too. She wouldn't expect any less.
But aside from the jarring surprise of his dropping texts off to his mom, it's really none of Bella's business where Masen Cullen is or what he's doing. She drops her eyes, goes back to organizing her notes, oblivious to Masen Cullen's lingering stare when she's no longer looking.
She would have remained totally clueless about it, too, if not for her classmates whispering to each other did he look at me and no he looked at her and her who and who else but Bella Swan?
Bella fixes her eyes to her desk, fighting the heat on her cheeks as Professor Cullen starts her lecture. Because surely Masen Cullen didn't look at her again. Surely not.
And even if he did - well, Bella is going on a date with Master Culler and presently doesn't have any time for anyone else, no matter how brilliant they are.
The Coffee Circuit ʘcaffeinecircuitry
Coffee, keyboards, first date jitters oh my #weseeyou
(Picture Attachement: The front of The Coffee Circuit, and right by the signboard is the profile of a girl with freckles and long nutbrown hair, biting her lip as she looks down the street; her complete face is not recognizable except to those with a keen eye.)
Cardinal Trees ʘcardinaltreesblog
Hey ʘcaffeinecircuitry how fresh is your information?
The Coffee Circuit ʘcaffeinecircuitry
ʘcardinaltreesblog As fresh as our #coldbrew, so fresher than your content
Cardinal Trees ʘcardinaltreesblog
(Gif Attachment: Monty Python's Black Knight skit, the Black Knight saying "'tis but a scratch")
Bella Swan arrives at The Coffee Circuit at the exact time they agreed to meet. She stands outside, fingers curled around one of the straps of her denim backpack, looking at the oncoming sidewalk traffic with a curious, although cautious expression on the lush planes of her face - a remarkable shift from the focused solemnity she broadcasted in the classroom as she organized her notes, seemingly totally oblivious to the way his eyes helplessly tracked back in her direction.
She's expressive. He is not. He likes it anyway.
Swansong, Bella Swan, Swanning is a type of beauty that is not seen often. He notes it all carefully, filing it away in the space in his mind that has been dedicated to learning about this girl who has managed to spin him upside down. She is dressed modestly, because even though her Hufflepuff - a fitting Hogwarts house, he thinks - shirt is cropped, the high waist of her skirt means that there is barely even an inch of creamy skin visible; the skirt covers her thighs, her sleeves fall to her elbow, and her shoes are sensible. And yet, as Masen looks at her, crossing the street with his hands in his pockets, he can't help but think that she has dressed specifically to seduce him.
It's nonsensical. He knows, between having seen her in person before and from the YouTube videos Peter haphazardly sends him, that this is her normal style of dress. He's fixating on it because of his own nerves. What she wears, what he wears, none of it really matters - but there his mind goes, cataloguing the details, like how she's braided back the sides of her long, cinnamon-hued hair to keep strands out of the wide slants of her olive-green eyes.
She has very long eyelashes, he notes as he walks closer, step by step by step, comforted in the knowledge that she hasn't noticed him. Yet. Again. Is it bad that she doesn't seem to notice him? Or should he take this as a good sign - she doesn't notice him, Masen Cullen, because she is looking for the other him, Master Culler.
Loyal, he decides, and then more absently, Her lips look soft.
Masen stops on the other side of The Coffee Circuit's entrance, the glass and black metal front of the internet café broken by a single open French door, which passes four people through who separate Masen from Bella. Even with a small sea of people between them, Masen can't drop his gaze, not even for a moment, not even as nerves clutch at him unapologetically once more.
So close, but so far. Seeing her in his mom's lecture hall earlier, in another fit of serendipity, had been a reinforcement of this idea. Bella Swan is always just out of reach while maintaining the illusion of being obtainable.
Until now.
What if she reacts badly? He doesn't think she will, but he also doesn't know for sure - he can't know, really, because he doesn't know how she feels, if anything, about Masen Cullen. If he's lucky, maybe she doesn't know about him at all, maybe she only knows him in passing. It's possible.
He doesn't know if he wants that to be true, or not. Never in his life has he been so damn uncertain.
Even still, Masen gathers his courage and his confidence, wiping his palms on the seat of his pants. Swansong, Bella Swan, Swanning is waiting for him, pretty and poised like a still photograph, obviously searching for someone in the passing crowd.
He can't be late and he can't delay any longer.
He doesn't want to disappoint her, not for a second.
Cardinal Trees ʘcardinaltreesblog
Faithful readers rejoice, because whoa have we got the story for you! Stay tuned for updates about a certain belle and golden boy! #weshipit #wewillgodownwiththisship
Bella bites her lip, peering at yet another throng of passersby. Only a few of them go into The Coffee Circuit, but none of them spare her a glance and all of them are fellow women. Her lip scrapes across her teeth, just shy of painful as she keeps searching.
She and Master Culler really hadn't planned for this very well, had they? They should have agreed to each wear something to identify themselves with, like a rose or a scarf or something. Why didn't they do that? They could have at least told each other what they look like! Instead, Bella is looking at every man that passes as if he's Master Culler, and she's growing more anxious by the second.
What if he doesn't show up? What if he does show up, and he's some old man, or a pervert? She really didn't think this through. She should have thought this through, should have been more cautious about it, but she'd jumped on the first opportunity to meet Master Culler without thinking about it at all.
Leah might actually strangle her when she finds out how reckless Bella has been.
Bella releases her lip, resists the urge to rock onto the tips of her toes for a better view of the sidewalk, and fixes her eyes to the opposite side of the street, thinking maybe he'll come from that direction-
"Bella Swan?"
A low, melodious voice calls her name, and Bella turns toward it like a flower to the sun. And then she stops, lungs frozen mid-breath, her mind akin to the sound of a record screeching to a half. Because. Well. That's Masen Cullen, standing just beside the entrance to The Coffee Circuit, one hand in his pocket and something soft in his eyes as he looks at her with an otherwise neutral expression.
Bella blinks at him, turning just slightly in his direction. "Oh. Hi," she says belatedly. She blinks again, a furrow in her brow as she casts a hesitant look around them. They're both alone, it seems, and for some reason Masen Cullen has deigned to talk to her, of all the other alone people near the internet café. "Are you…waiting for someone?"
Her hazard guess is met with a faint uptick on one side of his mouth, a wry sort of smile. "Yes," he answers plainly, still staring at her.
"Oh," Bella says again. She looks at what he's wearing, a predominately white button-down shirt with one shoulder covered in black and grey squares, slim-fitting light wash jeans, and classic black high-tops. She's no Alice, but she thinks he looks like someone who is dressed to meet someone.
Bella thinks about the Hufflepuff shirt she put on with pride this morning and feels her cheeks heat. Should she have worn something a little less casual? Would Master Culler care?
Inexplicably, Masen Cullen's wry smile turns into a smirk, and he looks at her with great amusement, most of it banked in the cool steel blue-grey of his eyes. "I'm waiting for you," he says.
"You are?" Bella furrows her brows. "Why would you be…."
Bella stops.
Bella stares, unblinking.
Bella's mind positively whirs, and a flush of foolishness rises from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She feels - well, not like an idiot, but very stupid and naïve and outright blind for not seeing it before. Because, laid out, it all looks painfully obvious and even a child might have put it together.
Master Culler. Masen Cullen. Master Culler and Masen Cullen. Master Culler is Masen Cullen. Of course he is - the names are almost the same, for God's sake! Master Culler is a proficient master player; Masen Cullen is a talented student and a rising star in the tech industry. Master Culler started a company right out of college; Masen Cullen has a new start-up after graduation. Master Culler was in an accident; Masen Cullen was in an accident.
If she thinks about it, the parallels are endless, even for someone like her who didn't know all the details of Masen Cullen's life to compare them to the bits of information Master Culler lets slip through their chats.
Masen Cullen and Master Culler are one in the same.
"Oh, my God," she breathes, almost positive that she's gaping at him. "You're Master Culler."
"I am," he answers needlessly.
"Oh, my God," she repeats, blinking rapidly.
She's been blind. There's no other explanation for it. Or - well, isn't there? Given all the millions of players on Dawn of Warcraft and the thousands that are on the NorCal server, what are the chances that someone she admires in real life is going to be the same person she admires in virtual reality? Slim. She bets those chances are really, really slim, even with the similarities between the names. After all, it's not like there aren't a dozen variations of Swansong online; she knows for a fact that there are half a dozen other players who fashion names similar to Master Culler's, too.
Can she really be blamed for not realizing it earlier? No.
Does that make it any less embarrassing now? Also no.
Masen Cullen's smirk softens back into that expression of wry amusement. He tilts his head at the open door of the internet café and asks, "Can I buy you a cup?"
"Sure. That's why we're here…" Bella says faintly, unthinkingly.
Masen's smile gentles into a faint thing, barely discernable, and he directs her to pick a table to sit at while he fetches their drinks. Bella picks a table near the windows toward the front of the café, mostly because she feels like she needs to sit down before her quivering knees give out on her. Her backpack is dropped on her feet and she stares at the broad width of Masen Cullen's back as he waits in line.
Something about the view is pinging a frankly foreboding sense of familiarity, but then she has seen Masen Cullen's back once before, hasn't she? With the wink - with the wink, because he winked at her, because he knew who she was? Even then?
Oh, my God, she thinks with heavy disbelief. That was over a month ago. He figured it out a month ago?
Truly, both Masen Cullen and Master Culler deserve recognition as one of the great minds of their generation. Either he's better at deductive reasoning than Sherlock, or he figured it out another way -
Or both. It's probably both. Bella is literally all over the internet, as either Leah's ongoing documentary subject, or as Swanning. Connect one with the other, and it can't be that difficult to come up with Swansong. Or to start with Swansong and end up at one of the other conclusions, really.
He probably figured it out easily. At least Bella has the defense that, aside from Master Culler, Masen isn't really online anywhere else. That makes her feel a little better.
Mollified, Bella is in a much more coherent state of mind, right up until she realizes that by accepting a date with Master Culler she had actually accepted a date with Masen Cullen. A date that she is currently on. Right now.
She manages another spiral of disbelief before Masen brings two oversized ceramic cups back to the table.
"I wasn't sure which you would like," he says, setting the cups in the middle and gesturing for her to take one.
Both are topped with pretty latte art - flowers, or a leaf - that are common to these cafes. They both seem like plain options, probably flavored with extra pumps of syrup but ultimately lattes without the frills. She selects the one in the yellow cup, scooting it closer to her over the polished wood grain of the table.
Bella goes to take a sip before abruptly setting the cup down. Now that she's - kind of - settled after this whopping revelation, she has had time to process the bruises and cuts still visible on Masen's face. Up close, she can see that stitches had sunken into his hair line, right above his forehead, and that the bruises on his wrist, his hand, his brow are all in that awkward stage of ugly green-purple mottling. Seized by new worry - because this doesn't look like minor injuries from an accident - Bella can't stop herself from blurting out her concerns.
"Are you okay? How are you feeling after the accident? Should you even be walking around?"
Masen is unruffled by the rapid-fire questioning. "I'm fine," he says simply. "How do you like the coffee?"
Bella squints her eyes, but takes a sip anyway. He obviously doesn't want to talk about the accident and she's not going to push. It's probably not the right conversation for a…first date, anyway.
Oh, God, she really is wearing a Hogwarts shirt on a first date.
Smothering her internal embarrassment, Bella manages to scrounge together an opinion about the coffee. "It's great. A little sweet."
"You don't like sweet." It's a statement, not a question, but more importantly it looks like he's genuinely cataloguing her answer.
"I don't dislike it," she hedges.
"Mm."
That's a hum. He answered in a hum. What does a hum mean?
Bella opens her mouth, but her teeth click shut when she notices that, around them, the café is near-silent and over half the patrons are staring at them. And then she notices that she is leaning forward, elbows on the table, very clearly edging into Masen Cullen's personal space - not that he seems to mind, because he's doing the exact same thing.
"Oh," she says, cheeks heating up again. She's too comfortable with him, she knows that. Bella leans back for some semblance of dignity or self-respect. Both. Either.
She's so flustered.
Masen lifts a brow, a silent question.
"It's just…we're kind of public," Bella says haltingly.
"Mm."
Was that an agreement? Is he agreeing that they're in public? His expression is completely inscrutable. She has no idea what he's thinking. Maybe he thinks she's silly. Maybe he regrets the whole thing. Who knows?
"People might get the wrong idea," she elaborates.
Because even in 2020, being in public with someone has certain connotations. And is Masen Cullen really willing to make that kind of statement?
"No," Masen disagrees, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee with an air of utter confidence. "They'll get the right idea."
And then he winks.
Bella's heart flips.
Bella Swan ʘthelittlecygnet
Today was amazing. Shocking but amazing #isthisthereallife #isthisjustfantasy
Alice Bee ʘaliceseesyou
I KNEW IT!
L Clearwater ʘClearlyFlimingThis
Wtf don't vaguepost ʘthelittlecygnet ʘaliceseesyou
Rose Hale ʘbyanyothername
Spill the tea ʘthelittlecygnet
A/N: So, how did we feel about the reveal? I hope I managed to capture Bella's slow-dawning realization and Masen's sense of nerves because wow, he acutally cares a lot about this? I alternated between their perspectives because I couldn't decide who would be the better narrator for this, so I was just like, fuck it lets do both.
Regarding any of the medical stuff, I did not go to medical school and all of my knowledge is cobbled together from House, medical C-Dramas, and Google searches. So. Just go with it!
Also, for fans of the C-Drama this story is inspired by, I hope you liked the way I adapted some of the best scenes of the show. I entertained the idea of the bike riding and the family-owned restaurant and the basketball game, but I nixed them early on because I felt that some of them didn't fit a Western adaptation - and I'd already fiddled with so much of the timeline that it wouldn't have made sense. This, for me and for this story, feels more authentic to what I'm trying to do here. Although, note that the Crimson Trees blog is acting as some of the "they went public!" flavor for the chapter.
Anyway! Stay safe, stay smart, stay at home, and for fuck's sake if you are at home don't throw a party for your 1 yr old baby and invite a dozen people over who then run around your neighbor's yard touching all the shit their with their grimy, germy hands like my neighbors have done today. It's called social distancing for a reason - as in, keep your social distance the fuck away from my shit, and that includes your freakin' kids! Ugh. And I wonder why I have stress and anxiety. Honestly.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~Rae
