Chapter 12
I don't usually let people do this.
Not in my space. Not in my life. Not like this.
But Mason has somehow ended up ordering dinner anyway.
I did try to argue.
At least a little.
"It's fine, I already had toast," I said.
Which, in hindsight, was a pathetic defence.
He just looked at me like I'd said something mildly incorrect rather than deeply concerning.
And then—like it wasn't even a debate—he'd ordered food on his phone while leaning against my kitchen counter as if he belonged there.
Now I'm sitting on my couch, a takeaway container balanced on my lap, trying not to overthink the fact that this has become... normal.
Mason is beside me.
Not too close.
But close enough that I'm very aware of him.
Ava is asleep in her portable crib again, soft little breaths rising and falling in the background. The apartment is dim now, just the TV glow flickering across the room.
A movie is playing.
Something he picked.
I didn't even argue this time.
Progress, apparently.
"You're not eating," he says quietly.
"I am eating."
"You're moving it around the container."
I glance down.
He's right.
Annoying.
"I'm just tired," I mumble.
That earns a small hum from him, like he accepts it but doesn't approve.
I risk a look at him.
Mason is leaning back into the couch like it's nothing—one arm resting along the back, the other holding his drink. Relaxed in a way I don't think I've ever seen him in the hallway or outside.
Like he's not on duty.
Like he's just... here.
The thought does something uncomfortable to my chest.
I look back at the TV too quickly.
The movie is one of those slow romance ones. The kind where nothing dramatic happens, but everything feels like it might.
Of course, he picked this.
Of course.
I steal another glance at him.
"You picked this on purpose," I say quietly.
"What?"
"The movie."
He doesn't even look guilty.
"I didn't know what was on," he says.
"That's a lie."
A faint pause.
Then the smallest hint of a smirk.
"...It looked less likely to involve explosions."
I huff a quiet laugh before I can stop myself.
"That's your standard?"
"Pretty much."
The silence that follows isn't empty.
It's... warm.
Familiar in a way that shouldn't make sense, given how new all of this is.
On screen, two characters are talking too close together, clearly signalling that something is about to change.
I shouldn't notice it.
But I do.
And worse—I notice how close Mason is beside me without actually moving.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the space between us.
Close enough that if I shifted slightly, I'd—
No.
I focus on my food again.
Ava stirs faintly and makes a soft noise from her crib.
My body reacts instantly, already halfway up—
Mason's hand moves slightly, not touching me, just blocking the instinct.
"She's alright," he says softly.
I hesitate.
Then slowly sit back down.
"She always does that right when I relax," I mutter.
"Yeah," he replies. "That's how you know you're allowed to."
I look at him.
That lands a bit too quietly in my chest.
Allowed to.
Like rest is something I've been waiting permission for.
I look away again quickly.
The movie keeps playing.
At some point, I stop pretending to eat.
I sit there.
Listening to the dialogue I'm barely following.
Feeling the weight of him next to me without it being heavy.
Mason shifts slightly, reaching for his drink, and his arm brushes the back of the couch behind me—not touching me, but suddenly there.
My breathing catches before I can stop it.
Stupid.
It was nothing.
But my body doesn't seem interested in logic.
I glance at him again, careful.
He's still watching the screen.
Like nothing changed.
Like, I didn't just become hyper-aware of every inch of space between us.
"You cold?" he asks suddenly.
I blink.
"What?"
"You keep pulling your sleeves down."
I look down at my hands.
I have been.
I didn't even notice.
"No," I say quickly. Then softer, "just tired."
He nods once like that's enough.
But his arm stays there.
Still behind me.
Still close.
The movie reaches one of those scenes.
Quiet. Slow. Intentional.
Two characters sitting in silence that no longer feels like silence.
My throat feels suddenly dry.
I shouldn't be thinking about this.
About him.
About how easy it would be to lean just slightly to the side.
To see what happens.
I shift instead, adjusting my position on the couch.
Safe distance.
Responsible distance.
Smart distance.
Mason glances at me for a fraction of a second.
Not questioning.
Just noticing.
Then he looks back at the screen again, as if he's decided not to comment on whatever he saw.
My heart is doing something irritating now.
Too loud.
Too aware.
Ava makes another small sound, then settles again.
The apartment goes quiet except for the movie.
And Mason's presence beside me.
I don't know exactly when it happens.
When the space between "he's just here" becomes something I'm actively trying not to think about.
But I know the moment I realise it's already too late.
Because I'm not just aware of him anymore.
I'm thinking about what it would feel like if I stopped pretending I wasn't.