Mason Alexander was exhausted and wanted to sleep. He wanted to simply close his eyes and shut everything and everyone out for a while. At least sleep would allow him to do that. But sleep wouldn't come this night. He'd spent the last four hours listening to the ticking of the old-fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand as it had dutifully counted every second he'd spent in restless frustration. Two days. Two days and Aidan would finally be married, and this whole thing would be over, and perhaps then he could get some rest. But it was exactly this realization that had been the source of Mason's grief and heartache. It was exactly for this reason he'd lain awake wondering if he should tell Aidan the truth.
Mason and Aidan had been lifelong friends. They'd met in their earliest days of grade school and had struck up an immediate and inseparable friendship that had now lasted through high school, college, and for Aidan a tour of duty in the Middle East. But inseparable as they were two young men couldn't have been more different. Mason had always been small and petite, growing hardly an inch taller than most women of average height. He'd favored a life of interests in arts and music, literature and reading. But Mason's small physique was not without its own attraction. Now at 25 Mason was slender and toned, his body showing the results of countless miles of biking and running. But it was his face that most people, even a fair few guys, remarked on. Mason had never held the rugged features considered typically attractive for men. His round face had always held softer lines than most men, appearing almost feminine. More than once even Aidan had playfully teased that he'd date Mason "if he actually had something besides the girly face."
Aidan was totally opposite Mason. Throughout his teen years he'd grown into a stunningly handsome young man, tall and naturally muscular. He'd been the envy of many guys throughout high school and college for having to spend minimal time in the gym to emphasize his already large frame and wide shoulders that naturally slimmed into a narrow waist. His unruly sandy hair, blue eyes, and strong jawline gave Aidan the appearance of some Norse warrior of a forgotten age. Aidan had been the idol of countless young men, and the desire of countless more young ladies throughout his school and college years. Yet there was more to Aidan's attractiveness than natural good looks. Mason had realized this before anyone.
Mason wasn't sure when he'd begun to look at Aidan as more than friend. All he knew was that it had been for a while. But Aidan McManus was more than just handsome features and body. Within his muscular chest beat one of the most compassionate, tender hearts Mason had ever known. It had been Aidan who'd first realized that Mason was more attracted to other guys than any girl. Mason could still remember the night during high school he'd lain crying of sheer humiliation and terror into Aidan's shoulder, after Aidan had confronted him about rumors that he'd overheard. But more vivid were the memories of Aidan's soft touch as he'd brought his friend into an embrace meant to shelter him from the rest of the world. It had been Aidan who'd spent a week in detention after physically confronting Mason's hecklers. After Masons' dad had died and he'd gone to live with his grandmother it had been Aidan who, having gotten his license first, had spent countless patient hours instructing Mason "clutch out easy, gas in easy" as Mason had jerked and stalled Aidan's old car a thousand times learning to drive. But things had changed a few months ago.
Mason could still remember the night he'd met Meagan. She'd waltzed into the burger joint Aidan and Mason had agreed to meet at attached to Aidan's arm like a leech. Though Mason had attempted civility for Aidan's sake he'd taken an immediate disliking to Meagan. She on the other hand had not bothered to hide her disdain for Mason. Meagan had been very quick to express her opinion of "the unusual relationship of an extremely handsome, sexy man like Aidan and.........well.......someone like Mason." By the end of the evening Mason had been silently praying that Meagan would choke on the salad she'd ordered and put them both out of their misery. But through it all Aidan had remained madly, hopelessly, stupidly in love with the sneering, haughty Meagan, even going so far as to accuse Mason later of upsetting her. Yet for the sake of their friendship Mason had remained silent, and Aidan himself had eventually apologized. Things had returned to a semblance of normality for some time until a couple of months ago, the day Aidan had called to tell him.
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Aidan sat twirling the empty glass in his hand as he listened to the few sounds left to fill the void of the chilly autumn air. Mrs Robinson would probably kick him out of the building if she saw him sitting on the terrace in just his underwear, but he didn't care. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but something was definitely off. Mason hadn't been his usual self for several days now. Every time he'd gone by Mason's apartment two floors up he'd found him "busy" or "not feeling well," or some other stupid excuse so that they weren't able to spend any time together. Meagan, of course, was glad. She'd never like Mason, and never bothered to hide it, even from Aidan. For the life of him he couldn't understand why. Mason was the best friend anyone could ever want. How many openly gay young men will spend years pushing their own feelings aside, listening to someone gush about their life with their girlfriend, to keep a friendship from getting weird?
Aidan had known for years that Mason had looked at him as more than just a friend. He might not be the sharpest tack in the shed, but he was by no means a fool. He could see it in Mason's eyes. There'd been a time when he'd spent so much time dwelling on the fact that his friend actually had feelings for him that he'd almost asked Mason out, just to satisfy his own curiosity. But looking back now he knew that wouldn't have been a good idea. His and Mason's friendship had gone through enough rough patches because of the countless assholes they had encountered who'd found it weird that a strait guy and gay guy could be friends. No need to go and make things more complicated. And besides, his dating Meagan had already caused friction between them. Why couldn't Meagan just let it alone? Why couldn't she just get off Mason's back? Mason was the best friend someone could hope for. Hadn't he been the one who'd been there to listen and comfort Aidan after he'd returned home from his stint in the Middle East? Meagan had hardly bothered to ask him two questions about what he'd seen or experienced.
It wasn't as if Aidan was really offended by the idea that Mason viewed him as more than friend. Hell, to him it was a complement! Mason was a very shy character. He didn't easily warm up to anyone, and he was usually an excellent judge of character. More than once throughout their years together Mason had warned Aidan of something being off about some new girl Aidan had brought over. It never seemed to fail that within a short time Aidan would find himself betrayed or finding some dark secret about his new interest, having to begrudgingly admit that Mason had once again been right. The fact that Mason was attracted to him gave him some reassurance that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as totally screwed up as he felt he was. But even as Aidan pondered on these musings his heart ached at what he knew was coming. In two days he and Meagan would be getting married, and that meant the end of his and Mason's close friendship. He loved Meagan, but she wasn't without her flaws, jealously being one. After they'd said their vows she'd do everything within her power to keep Mason away; Aidan could already see it coming.
The chill of the late autumn air brought goose pimples to Aidan's bare skin. The drink he'd brought onto the terrace with him had long-since worn off, leaving him cold and shivering slightly. He allowed his eyes to roam along the L-shaped building he and Mason had known as home for the last couple of years. He was going to miss this place. When he'd returned from the Iraq he'd purposely bought this apartment because of its proximity to Mason. Half the time neither of them slept in their own bed, simply crashing on the other's sofa until morning. How many times had he and Mason sat out on his or Mason's terrace and watched the sun set beyond the mountains in the distance, or listened to the southern cicada "katydids" scratch their late-Summer song? How many times had he laughed at Mason's bringing candles and a bottle of wine onto the terrace ( "It's a really good year! One of my clients gave it to me today as payment!" ) instead of his preferred Scotch, yet sat with his friend and sipped the fruity nectar for hours on end as they discussed their days and weeks.
Yes, he was going to miss this place. His heart ached at the mere thought of leaving. But as his eyes caught sight of the shadowy form peering out from the balcony of the apartment of the far wing his breath caught. He was going to miss this place. But there, there in the shadows; that was what, or rather who he was going to miss. He already did. He missed Mason.