Gooooood afternoon! (Mason)

[Sam Caraway]

In one of his more recent spates of bad luck, Sam had been relieved of his phone by a mugger. He hadn’t been too sad about it at the time – after all, they weren’t exactly difficult to replace – but it was only now, back in Pilot Ridge, that he realised what the real problem was: he didn’t have Mason McQueen’s number any more. He had a new cellphone, and his apartment had a landline, but he didn’t have any way of contacting the man he would describe as his ‘best friend.’

Sam had many friends, but none as close as Mason. They had been roommates at Hammel, where Sam had managed to bully the other boy into liking him – Sam had been present at Mason’s wedding (at which he had given every young woman in the congregation a key, and then stood up during dinner with a bucket to loudly ask every lady who had a key to Mason’s house to give it back), and he had been by his friend’s side during Angela’s funeral. But recently, they hadn’t been as connected as they usually were. Their ‘manly weekends’ in Vegas had become a thing of the past after Angela had passed away, and with the loss of his phone, it had been at least three months since Sam had spoken to Mason.

This had to change.

Sam sat himself down on his new sofa, and propped his feet up on a still-unpacked box of some of his worldly possessions. Picking up his house phone he cradled it in his hand for a long moment, eyes closed. His breathing became deep and regular, and he felt ‘luck’ begin to pool around him. With things like this, it was a matter of waiting until the time was right – at exactly the perfect moment, Sam raised the phone up and typed in the first sequence of numbers which came into his head. Mason's number.

He took it for granted that Mason would be in his house, and free to speak to him. Sam had been working on his luck all day (he had a needle of pain behind his right eye to prove it), and was confident that he would be catching the other man at just the right time.

Sure enough, the phone was answered. ‘Hey, Cousin It!’ The wide smile on Sam’s face was audible. ‘Guess who’s back in Pilot Ridge!’

[Mason McQueen]

Ask Mason what his first impression of Sam was when he first met him in Hammel and he’d easily sum it up in one word: a headache. (Yes, technically those are two words, but the man would argue that the first one’s a simple article, so it really doesn’t count. Much).

Mason tries his hardest not to judge people upon the first meeting, but there’s just something with the way the probability manipulator greeted him that unusually windy July afternoon that told him he’s in for a whole lot of trouble. He can’t quite say that it was because of that cheeky, almost suspicious smile the boy gave him that day, or if it was those confident and impish eyes of his – probably a combination of both really. It also didn’t help that Mason was all shades of shy back then – a healthy mix of his natural personality combined with heaping amounts of culture shock (he spent around half his life overseas back then after all).

As rough as the first few weeks/months may be, it all paid off, as Mason has never found quite a friend like Sam. He’s one of the few Mason’s tried his hardest to keep connected with after graduating Hammel, inviting the man in almost every important life event he could think off. (He still can’t believe he didn’t see the whole key-prank during his wedding coming though. While he knew Sam wouldn’t let him off easy despite it being one of the most important days of his life, he still hoped the probability manipulator would behave – apparently he was wrong. His only consolation was, well, Sam would’ve thought of something much worse, wouldn’t he?)

Unfortunately though, he’s been quite busy these past few months that he’s forgotten to at least email the man about his current whereabouts. With papers to mark, graduation matters to help the said class with, as well as the whole MSAD arc he’s gotten himself into – life just ate him all of a sudden.

Like this time, for example.

Rubbing the sides of his forehead, the man’s currently trying to get through about three dozen’s worth of lab reports, all in various degrees of, well, failure. While there were a few stellar reports, the majority were just downright hideous. Has he not taught them enough?

He had just finished grading yet another disappointing paper and was just about to get another when the landline suddenly rang, causing the man to bolt up from his seat and ran downstairs. Since the caller id displayed not a name, he decided to wait until the caller spoke to the answering machine before answering.

“Oh no, not you again,” he grinned as he finally picked the phone up, “Didn’t I tell you to get out of my life when you lost my two hundred the last time I played with you?” Not that he actually meant that anyway, but he’s sure the man on the other line knew that as well, “What brings you around this parts anyway? And what happened to your old number?”

ooc:
Sorry it took so long and if it's a bit on the crappy side Sandrine. D;.
- Jam[/justify][/font]

[Sam Caraway]

The first time Sam had ever met Mason, he had known that they would be friends.

Well, he hadn’t exactly known, but he had realised early on that if they were to get through the next few years of living in the same dorm without killing each other, a bond would need to be formed. Mason had been a challenge at first (he had been so damn shy, Sam had been surprised every time he managed to get a word out), but after a careful campaign of what some would call pressuring, and what Sam called persuading, Mason had been coerced into joining in with a few of Sam’s pranks. By the time they had moved from childish phone calls to rearranging the classroom desks, the two were firm friends.

The key stunt had been Sam’s own, special way of saying ‘goodbye’ to his best friend. And, as he had said when Mason called him up on it: it was either the key thing, or gunpowder in the exhaust pipe of the car.

‘Sticks and stones, Hairy Mary,’ Sam grinned, surprised at how glad he was to speak to his friend again. It had been far too long. ‘Where would we be right now if I ever listened to anything you said to me?’ It was something he’d been saying for a while. Every time Mason had given Sam advice, Sam had tended to ignore it completely – and the same went for insults. ‘Besides – I didn’t lose your money. You did that all by yourself.’ Not that Sam could even remember how that money had been lost or won. He supposed that, being a gambler, he should have a better memory for money, but sometimes he just couldn’t remember what had happened to it.

Mason’s questions made Sam wince, just a little. ‘The two are connected,’ he told the other man with a rueful smile. ‘You know my bad luck? Things got a bit complicated – Vegas started losing its’ charm.’ Which was as much explanation as Sam was going to give, at this precise moment. ‘I got mugged a few months ago, which is where my phone went. You probably scared some criminal shitless every time you called my number.’ For a little while after his mugging, Sam had amused himself by phoning his old number every few hours during the day, satisfied by the irritation and anger at the other end of the phone that he was at least getting on someone’s nerves. Petty, but it sure made him feel better.

‘And how are you?’ he asked, tone of voice softening – ever so slightly. Sam would be the first to admit that he was pretty useless in a crisis: he had never really known if he was doing the right thing, when he had tried to look after Mason during those awful first few months after Angela’s death. But he wasn’t going to become sentimental or mawkish: ‘I’m surprised they let you back into Hammel after that stunt we pulled on graduation day.’

Said ‘stunt’ had been, if Sam said so himself, a logistical masterpiece. They had filled strategic water tanks with washing-up liquid, and watched from the roof with a six-pack as the school had become a sea of bubbles.

OOC: Don't be silly!

[Mason McQueen]

Mason would like to clarify that he never had much urge to kill someone until he met Sam. Sure he had a few enemies here and there, but they were never as persistent and as enthusiastic about annoying him as Sam was. As it appeared to him back then, the boy was far too invested in making him wince with all his ‘friendly gestures’, much more than he’d ever expect a teen to have. Then again, none of those said enemies have become his best friend. So it’s a decent trade off, in retrospect.
(It also didn’t hurt that it took two or so years before they had another roommate)

Though he has to say that he was never comfortable with all those pranks they did. Sure they were fun, but his heart (and his conscience) kept on bugging him every time. Damn peer Sam pressure (the man is in a category of his own, he says), adrenaline rush and that satisfaction he’s learned how to feel whenever a prank goes according to plan.

“Ha!” Mason said with much enthusiasm, “I usually admire you for your wise-cracking, nickname-giving prowess, but you are so wrong this time. Heaven knows I’m the slightest bit hairy.” Side effects of his powers and all that. A small detail, one Mason would usually let go, had this been another person. But since this was Sam we’re talking about, all forms of maturity are off. And by off I mean totally off.

Mason promptly grabbed a chair and sat down, as he feels that this would be a rather long conversation and leaning on the counter with the knives rack just behind him isn’t exactly the safest thing to do, at least in his opinion. “Hey! I resent that!” he laughed all the same. While he prides himself for giving sound advice, they’re almost always on the whole stay-away-from-all-things-risky type, a situation you definitely will not find yourself in when you’re with Sam. Which is why he’s always admired how the man’s quick thinking always got them through the toughest situations (not counting that it was his fault they’re in such situations in the first place). “I’m totally blaming you for not using your powers to help me with the roulette. You mean, bad person you.” Yes, we should totally leave all the wise-name cracking to Sam.

Sam need not explain the whole Vegas thing further; Mason’s been around him enough to know what he means and, to an extent, rationalize that it’s not too big of a problem to worry about. He did demand further explanation when he heard that his friend’s been mugged. “Say what? Where? You still have your arm with you?” He tried to be calm and comical with his questions, but he couldn’t let some sense of dread slip out somewhere in the middle. “You are such a weakling Sam, you know that?”

Memories of the said graduation day prank made Mason laugh even louder. “Probably because they needed someone with enough expertise to foil prankster-wannabes,” said the man, smug grin visible on his face. “Other than the usual paperwork, I’m good. And I’m not that fat anymore, just so we’re clear. I’ve learned how to use the treadmill and weights. Be proud of me.” All thanks to that persistent recruiter named Ella.

“Planning on staying here long?” Knowing Sam’s personality though, the chances are slim. As a man who lives on excitement, Mason thinks a quaint town like Pilot Ridge would have a hard time keeping him satisfied.

[/justify]

[Sam Caraway]

Mason always had been too nice for his own good – Sam had known from the very beginning that he was going to have his work cut out for him when it came to really making friends with the other boy. But neither of them could deny that it had been entirely worth it. ‘That’s why I call you Hairy Mary,’ Sam replied to Mason’s comments about nicknames. ‘And Cousin It, and The Last of the Mohicans. You’re lucky I don’t call you Rapunzel any more.’ That particular nickname was one of Sam’s favourites, but Mason had always hated it – and in a rare gesture of friendliness, Sam had ceased using it after a few months of their knowing each other.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t still use it to threaten him with, though.

‘You were always the one telling me how dishonest how I am for using my power to take peoples’ money,’ Sam pointed out. ‘And the one time I take you at your word, you get mad at me!’ Mason had always been his conscience – as much as Sam hated to admit that he needed one. But sometimes Sam couldn’t resist showing Mason how boring or rubbish life could be when you weren’t having fun: not touching the roulette wheel had been his own little way of proving that probability manipulation was something to be used, not locked away. Besides, they had won the money back again at the blackjack table.

Sam grinned. ‘Yep, all my limbs are present and correct,’ he replied. ‘It wasn’t that bad. They just took my stuff.’ Traumatic at the time, but harmless in the long run. ‘Of course I’m a weakling,’ Sam pointed out to Mason, stretching out on his sofa. ‘I rely on my staggering intellect to help me out of tricky situations.’ His tactic at school had been to always run faster than anyone else – that way, he could make his ill-judged sarcastic comment, and run the hell away from anyone who could beat him up. Mason had always been the ‘brawn’, when it came to their little duo.

‘Did I ever say you were fat?’ Sam asked, before pausing for a moment. ‘…Since the last time I saw you, that is?’ Everyone was ‘fat’ when compared to Sam, and he took great pride in pointing it out to people. It was amazing what a diet of fast food and intense adrenaline highs could do for your figure. Sam frowned, his tone of voice becoming very serious indeed: ‘Just so we’re clear, Steve,’ (and to clarify, that is ‘Steve’, as in ‘McQueen’, a nickname Sam had taken up shortly after the demise of ‘Rapunzel’.) ‘I am the looker, in this outfit. The girls only talk to you so that they can get to me.’ Someone had once remarked that Sam’s capacity for self-deception was bottomless. They had been right.

‘Not sure how long,’ Sam replied to Mason’s last question. ‘I’m helping Kali out with her bar, so I’ll be sticking around for a little while.’ The smile crept back onto his face. ‘And you know what that means, my friend. It means: a Night Out.’

The last Night Out that Sam had taken Mason on had involved uncounted units of alcohol, one hospitalization, three minor injuries, and a hangover that had led both of them to stay Sam’s apartment for the whole of the following day.

In Sam’s eyes, it had been an amazing success.

[Mason McQueen]

Mason mumbled a nearly inaudible “Oh” when Sam told him what those names meant, thankful that he wasn’t talking to the man face-to-face else he would’ve made fun of his embarrassed blush already. Heaven knows what twisted joke he’ll derive from his misery once more. “I totally didn’t get that. Didn’t I tell you to stop using pop references on me?” God he felt so stupid. It’s a good thing Sam mentioned Rapunzel though; at least Mason had something else (other than his apparent obliviousness to pop culture) to focus on.

“Jerk,” he spat out, his chuckle a mixture of nostalgia and slight irritation. Out of all the nicknames he’s had due to his power, Rapunzel is the only one he never did grow comfortable with. And Sam knows all about it. Possibly because he was the one who started calling him as such. “You’re such an ass you know that,” he said, though his tone was more playful than frustrated really, “Just because I still can’t think of anything better than Jinx for you doesn’t mean you have the right to bring out old names.”

“Exactly my point! The one time you obey me is the one time I told you not too.” Nope, despite them winning the money back at the blackjack table (doubling or even tripling it in the process, if memory serves him right), he says it’s all about the principle. Or something. “Oh how my life would be better without you.” Empty words. God knows how empty the man would feel without the annoying twit of a sidekick by his side (though considering how Sam is usually the one initiating stuff and Mason’s the one tagging along, the imagery’s more appropriate in reverse, not that Mason would admit it though).

Whatever worry Mason had for the past few minutes had been thrown out the window when Sam told him he’s well. The man had a feeling that the probability manipulator didn’t escape the ordeal without a scratch, but knowing the man’s ego, he’d probably not admit it. As long as he’s safe, Mason’s good. “Yeah? And look where that got you,” teased the man despite knowing full well that such intellect has saved both of their butts more than a dozen times. Mason was the default ‘brawn’ in their duo thanks to his build; unfortunately for both of them though, he rarely knows how to use it, considering how klutzy (and awkward) he was is.

“Dude, you’ve mispronounced something again. It’s hooker, not looker. With an h, not an l. ‘I’m a hooker in this outfit’,” laughed the man, grinning from ear to ear as he went over his fridge to get himself a cup of water. Since we’ve already established how much of a failure the man is when it comes to wise quips, such response isn’t really surprising, isn’t it? “Though really, I thought it was the other way around? Women do flock those with muscles under their skin than those who don’t and all that.”

“Helping Kali out? How? Bartending for her?” However it was, Mason was good with it. If it made the man decide to choose the quaint town for a temporary home from Vegas, it must mean it’s worth it. He was just about to suggest them meet up again some time when the man suddenly reminded Mason of something he so wishes he could erase from his mind already.

Considering that their last Night Out wasn’t their first, one would think Mason would’ve learned already. He was an absolute lightweight, and Sam loves to rub it in his face all the time. That Night Out was a result of Mason suddenly growing an ego and deciding not to let Sam tease him anymore. How many days did Angela not talk to him after that incident again? A week? Half a month? It was a disaster.

“Oh no. No no no.”

[Sam Caraway]

‘If you just accept that everything I call you has either something to do with hair, or Steve McQueen, then it’ll be much easier for you.’ Sam was well aware that most of the names he used were lost on Mason, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have fun using them. ‘And clearly, I need to resume your film education. If you don’t understand ‘Cousin It’, you were raised in a shed.’ To Mason’s accusations of his being a jerk, Sam did nothing but chuckle. He could be a bit of a jerk sometimes, but it was all part of his charm. Nobody had as much fun as Sam did without being a little bit nasty sometimes, did they? And it wasn’t like he was a bad person, or anything…he just enjoyed making fun of people a little too much. ‘Jinx was always too female,’ Sam waved it off, dismissive. ‘Especially after that Bond film came out. Who wants to share a name with Halle Berry?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘You just carry on calling me Sam, and I’ll think of all kinds of fun things to call you.’

Every time Sam read something about hair, he stored it away in his memory for future use with Mason. Fact.

‘Without me, you’d never have left the dorm room once, at school.’ The night Sam had first succeeded on getting his roommate out onto the streets of Pilot Ridge had been a legendary one. The night Sam had first introduced Mason to the joys of alcohol had been just as legendary, although for different reasons. The resident at 34 Grove Road never had found out who threw up in their flower bed, and the secret was still closely guarded. ‘I can see it now. You, shy and lonely. Never going out. Never drinking. Barely eating. Wasting away…’ Sam dropped his dramatic tone, and grinned.

Mason’s ‘hooker’ wisecrack made Sam first chuckle, then dissolve properly into laughter. It had been a long time since he’d laughed this much, and when he finally got his breath back, his ribs ached as if he’d just run a 10k track. It was, perhaps, Sam’s saving grace: he was as willing to be mocked as he was to do the mocking. ‘Dude!’ he exclaimed, small chuckles still forcing their way up through his ribcage. ‘When did you get a brain? Could this be the first time you’ve made a successful comeback?’ He was still giggling, and took a deep breath to try and stop himself. ‘I’m proud of you, bro. Really. There’s hope for you, yet.’ Sam was one of those lucky men who usually managed to find a lady on a night out, if only because he had that supremely confident air of: ‘I don’t care’, which comes across far better than desperation. But for all his jibes, he was aware of Mason’s potential. He just needed to work on being a bit less moral.

‘If she’ll let me behind the bar,’ Sam replied. ‘And I’m investing some money. She’s planning to expand.’ He was unable to keep the pride out of his voice. If a man couldn’t be proud of his little sister, who could he be proud of? Kali was, as far as Sam was concerned, the best member of the Caraway clan – much better than him, anyway. Both in sense and sensibility.

Mason’s reaction to Sam’s evening plans prompted a slow smile to cross Sam’s face. ‘Oh yes,’ he replied, grinning – by now – from ear to ear. ‘This is non-negotiable, Wiggy. You and I are going to go out and get embarrassingly drunk.’ The trouble with Sam was that he was so used to getting his own way that he fully expected to do so all the time – and would brook no opposition. ‘Tomorrow night.’

[Mason McQueen]

Mason just sighed at Sam’s simplification suggestion. “There’s really no stopping you, isn’t there?” he chuckled slightly, shaking his head as the image of Sam’s smug grin came over his mind. Though really, he should’ve learned. He couldn’t stop the boy from giving him all these nicknames at least a decade or so before (good lord, was he really that old already?), what’s to say he can stop the man-child now? “Being raised in a shed was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Then you came along and introduced all these stuff I could definitely live without.” Well, in his parents’ opinion, at least. Heaven knows how Mason tried his hardest not to let his parents know about his deeds. (It did work though, him graduating Hammel with only a handful of incidents pinned on him, and Sam, most of them extremely petty compared to the other ones he’s helped orchestrate, and to an extent, conceptualize).

“Who’s to say you’re not Halle Berry-esque?” Smirked the man in what seems to be another attempt at a wisecrack. “I mean, you’re thin and wiry. Add a wig and spray-tan yourself, maybe shave that dreadful beard of yours and voila, Halle Berry in the flesh.” Mason promptly bellowed out a rather boisterous laugh soon after. “Though seeing you in a bikini is not something I would wish on anyone. Ever.” (He’d seen it before through a dare, and boy was it traumatizing).

If Sam could see Mason right now, he’d see how his statement had made the grown man pout like a little kid, his snout extending as much as he can as his cheeks puffed up. He couldn’t deny the allegation though. While he could say that he could’ve gone with life without knowing without half the stuff Sam pushed into his face, life won’t be just as fun. “I couldn’t say the same for you though. If you hadn’t had me to reel you in back then, you’d probably be behind bars, locked up forever, wasting your days…” he said, playfully copying Sam’s tone.

Mason was absolutely stunned when he’s managed to earn quite a laugh out of Sam. As far as he knows, the man only laughs at his jokes because they’re so pathetic that, well, they become funny. But this, this was a different kind of laugh. Did he just hit gold or something? “It was successful?” His tone was very doubtful, as his mind is telling him that this could’ve just been part of his best friend’s prank, quickly dissing him a little later. “I had the best teacher?” slyly implying that Sam was the one who taught him and everything (which isn’t really too far from the truth). Even his last sentence was filled with uncertainty; this was absolutely a new thing for him.

“I highly doubt she will. You’d probably empty all those bottles twelve hours before the bar opens.” Though he was surprised with the whole investing thing he’s got going. “Who knew you were such a good big brother?”

His forehead promptly met his hand, shaking his head as he heard Sam’s insistence. He knows that tone. He’s heard that for the entirety of his high school tenure and for a good ten or so years soon after. And not once was he able to talk himself out of what was planned. “I guess telling you that, I don’t know, I have, err, umm…oh fudge you got me.” He was never too good at lying, at least to Sam. God knows how easily the man can see through his poker face. It also didn’t help that it was already Friday tomorrow; hooray for the weekend. “Just promise me you’d keep your hands to yourself once you’re wasted?” Indeed. Because a simple ‘Yes-I’ll-go’ simply won’t do.

[Sam Caraway]

‘Hands off the beard,’ Sam replied with a smirk. ‘I like the beard. It makes me look older than sixteen.’ Without stubble, Sam always felt as if he looked about twelve – he liked to have something to remind other people that he was in his thirties. The only time he went clean-shaven was when he was trying out a new casino, with an eye to making a big win – it always helped to play young and stupid while you took their money from under their noses. ‘I’d break out of jail, easy. I just have the feeling that I’d get lucky, somehow…’ If Sam ever went to prison, his life would be no Shawshank Redemption. If it gave him migraines for the rest of his life, he would make sure that he stayed physically safe, and got out as soon as possible. It would just be a case of making his own luck.

Mason’s comment about having had the best teacher made Sam grin. ‘Yeah, you did,’ he confirmed. ‘I’m glad you’re finally taking my lessons on board.’ As Mason tried his best to lie and get out of coming into town, Sam shook his head regretfully. ‘Forget what I just said. You haven’t learned anything,’ he told his best friend, giving a sigh of mock-disappointment. The one thing Mason – clever, book-smart Mason – had never been able to learn was the art of telling falsehoods. Sam had been trying, and failing, to teach him how to lie ever since they first met. Mason had made very little progress, and Sam was ever on the verge of despairing of him. ‘How have you made it this far in life without being able to lie?’ he asked, incredulous. It was honestly a mystery to him. ‘I’d be dead – literally, dead – if I lied as badly as you.’ That Mason probably never ran into the kind of danger he needed to talk himself out of was irrelevant to Sam. Many things were.

‘Keep my hands to myself?’ Sam adopted an air of innocent bewilderment, frowning as if his friend could see his expression. ‘What do you mean by that?’ Now he took on a tone of righteous indignation: ‘I’ve never got into trouble, have I? No underage girls, or dubious allegations. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly well-behaved.’ In fact, Sam knew very well what Mason meant by ‘keep your hands to yourself’: Sam was successful with the ladies, but also had a brilliant knack for hitting on the one girl in the room whose large and jealous boyfriend just couldn’t wait to have someone to beat the crap out of. Luckily, Sam always managed to run away…but it was a near thing, every time. Sam sighed, dropping his pretence of wide-eyed confusion. ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘Whatever you say. As long as you promise to actually talk to a few girls, this time. Last time I took you out, it was like walking around with someone mute.’

Sam knew little about love, and other real humans emotions like that, but he did his best to offer Mason what support and comfort he could. The only trouble was, Sam’s idea of ‘comfort’ was ‘finding someone to drown your sorrows in’ – exactly the kind of thing Mason was usually trying to avoid.

Sometimes Sam wondered how they had made it this far, as friends.

[Mason McQueen]

“Well, that makes one of us,” he teased, chuckling darkly as he realized his (lame) attempt at a sly grin doesn’t translate well if the other person can’t see it. “If anything, it makes you look like an old man. A dirty old man.” And no, he wants to clarify that he’s not jealous Sam can grow quite the beard and he can’t. Maybe before, when they were young, but not now. He’s grown to accept that he’d never really find the need to buy a razor, and that girls might be envious of him having better legs (in terms of hair and all that) than them. “Good. ‘Cause if you do get into jail, I’m absolutely not breaking in to get you out. You’re not that special you know.” That is, if Sam did do something wrong. Would Mason learn his best friend’s been detained unlawfully, you’d be certain strands upon strands of hair would be twirling around them bars and breaking them without much thought.

He knows it wasn’t something to be happy about, but he did grin a bit when Sam praised him. Or at least until the man swiftly took his compliment back, that is. “Hey. No take backs,” he protested, laughing so hard he almost knocked the lamp beside him over. “If you lived in my house when I was young, you’d know how.” Though he honestly thinks Sam wouldn’t be the as much fun if he had Mason’s parents. He’d be all dull and boring, and then how would Mason would be? Disastrous really. “Hey. I know how to lie. On the little things, at least.” Case in point: Mason lies tremendously back when they were teens when his parents asked if he’s been good; he makes no mention of his escapades with the (then) teenage boy, telling his mom and dad that he doesn’t skip classes, sneak out or even drinking without even blinking.

“Really now? You really don’t want me enumerating the number of times you’ve failed to keep those fingers of yours to yourself, do you?” It wasn’t threatening to say the least, but it’s something. “Away from girls or even their boyfriends, I mean.” He could still remember that one time when the girl, who Sam was flirting with at that moment, called her boyfriend over to try and get Sam off. Instead of moving away however, Sam instead turned his charms and started making his moves on the man, quickly ignoring the exasperated lady. Boy did Mason have quite the laugh that night.

Mason felt silent for a moment. He would argue that it wasn’t his shyness that’s preventing him from approaching girls (well, it was, but not majorly), but more because of that lingering feeling that he’s betraying Angela should he go out and, well, do what Sam does. He tells himself he’s already moved on, but somehow, deep inside, he still haven’t. He still wears their wedding ring after all. “I’ll try?” he answered, hesitation evident in his voice. Maybe, just maybe, Sam was sent into the quiet town of Pilot Ridge to help the man move on too. It’s not hard to think about it like that, isn’t it?

“So where will we meet? 6:30 at Kali’s or something? It’s not like you told me where you’re staying now, didn’t you?”